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CQEffilGUr DEPOSIT. 



The Analysis of Play Construction 
and Dramatic Principle 



BY 



W. T. PRICE 

AUTHOR OF "THE TECHNIQUE OF 
THE DRAMA" 




W. T. PRICE, PUBLISHER 

1440 BROADWAY 

NEW YORK 

182 






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Copyright, 1908, W. T. Price. 



CONTENTS 

CHAPTER I. 

The Delusion About Dramatic Instinct i 

CHAPTER II. 
Analysis 9 

CHAPTER III. 
The Method to be Pursued 16 

CHAPTER IV. 
Theme 19 

CHAPTER V. 
The Material 26 

CHAPTER VI. 
The Conditions Precedent 33 

CHAPTER VII. 
The Proposition 50 

CHAPTER VIII. 
The Plot 64 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Division into Acts 78 

CHAPTER X. 
The Division into Scenes 86 

CHAPTER XI. 
The Scenario 121 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Action of a Play 123 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Unity 146 

CHAPTER XIV. 
Sequence 156 

CHAPTER XV. 
Cause and Effect 171 

CHAPTER XVI. 
Action ( Drama) is not Mere Life 182 

CHAPTER XVII. 
Action (Drama) is not Story 193 



IV CONTENTS 

CHAPTER XVIII. 
Action (Drama) is not Mere Business 206 

CHAPTER XIX. 

Action (Drama) is not Primarily a Matter of Words 220 

CHAPTER XX. 

Indirection is the Dramatic Method, the Opposite of Story Telling. . 232 

CHAPTER XXI. 
Objectivity — The Visual • 246 

CHAPTER XXII. 
The Unexpected 259 

CHAPTER XXIII. 
Preparation 282 

CHAPTER XXIV. 
Action (Drama) Must be Self-explanatory, Self-developing and Self- 
progressive 294 

CHAPTER XXV. 
Compulsion '. 309 

CHAPTER XXVI. 
Facts 321 

CHAPTER XXVII. 
The Necessary and the Unnecessary 328 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 
Character 335 

CHAPTER XXIX. 
Dialogue, Monologues and Asides 343 

CHAPTER XXX. 
Entrances and Exits 363 

CHAPTER XXXI. 
Episode 381 

CHAPTER XXXII. 
Scenery 390 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 
Detail ; Circumstantiality 396 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 
The Condescending Fallacy that only the Rudiments can be Taught 408 

CHAPTER XXXV. 
Systematic Study 412 



PREFACE. 

After the publication of my "Technique of the Drama," 
sixteen years ago, and while I was acting as playreader for 
the then leading manager in New York, I was constantly 
besought by people for advice on their plays. I found that 
nothing could be done with the individual who, although he 
had read everything ever written on the subject, knew no- 
thing of the art of playwriting. It required the expenditure 
of too much vital energy to combat his self-confident ignor- 
ance. It was the bottomless pit. I discovered that this 
ignorance was not altogether his fault, for no book, my own 
included, had ever been published in any language that was 
adequate for the practical requirements of the workshop. 
Such books as had been published were useful as an intro- 
duction to the study, and they are still absolutely essential 
to the student, but something more is required. It also be- 
came plain to me that the art was too large to be compassed 
by a single volume or by any one method of investigation or 
instruction. It is not to the purpose now to enquire into 
the reasons why no dramatist has ever attempted to provide 
these needed text books for the student, supplying him 
with the tools of the workshop and not books of literary 
style addressed to posterity, with the quick delivery stamp 
on them of an endowed college professor. It was also plain 
to me that the whole subject required a new investigation 
and restudy conducted on an entirely independent initiative. 
It was not possible to meet the demand by a compilation. 
The process of the amateur's mind had to be considered, 
that process which is entirely natural to the mind ignorant 
of dramatic law in all directions. I am free to say that I 
have learned more on that line of investigation than on any 
other. It has been to my profit, and I hope to that of the 
student, that I have read and analyzed thousands of plays 
by amateurs. The study of false dramatic syntax will be an 
important element in our work together. This volume con- 



VI PREFACE 

cerns Analysis only. In another section of our study I shall 
trace dramatic law back to nature and the constitution of 
the human mind, thereby proving to you that the form is 
not purely artificial and that true plays are not written by 
"rules;" and then step by step we shall do all that is re- 
quired of the craftsman to gain his art. My sole and con- 
stant aim is to be of service to the student by formulating 
the art in the most practical way and by not writing a sin- 
gle line for the mere sake of writing. 

W. T. PRICE. 
New York, June, 1908. 



CHAPTER I. 



THE DELUSION ABOUT DRAMATIC INSTINCT. 

Reserving for another chapter the vivisection and the 
complete demolition in every honest mind, I believe, of the 
absurd and monstrous idea that a playwright is or can be 
or ever was or ever will be born, I wish now to urge upon 
you the practical dangers of any belief on your part that 
you have any dramatic instinct as something apart from 
a knowledge of dramatic principle that must be gained. If 
you hug and caress this delusion your progress will be de- 
layed and the day of your success will be remote. Your 
mind will not be open. You will not accept the authority 
of Technique and you will be constantly assuming that you 
fully understand something of which you really see only 
the surface. You will be constantly saying that you "knew 
all that before," when it is something about which you 
know the least. I am not trying to establish any personal 
authority over you by these statements, but I have a jeal- 
ous regard and a profound respect for an Art whose author- 
ity cannot be denied by any one without his loss of my 
respect. I am speaking plainly and in the first person, for 
my feeling on the subject proceeds from a large experience 
with people of this recalcitrant mind. If one begins this 
study with the idea that he has a dramatic instinct superior 
to fixed law, he begins as a fool and usually ends as a fool ; 
or, he loses years in self-complacent vanity before he yields 
to the authority of the Art. I think I shall conclusively 
demonstrate that the idea that one can be born a play- 
wright is a monstrous lie and fraught with evil. If one 
personally believes it of himself he is suffering from a form 
of insanity. It is an evil lie, for all lies are evil. It makes 
vanity a loathesome appanage of a professional career. If 
you have the dramatic instinct in the misleading and dan- 



2 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

gerous sense that I describe, why are you seeking further 
knowledge? Instinct does not have to be taught. If 
you have any instinct about the stage it is something that 
you have acquired by reading or seeing or hearing or ob- 
servation of your own initiative. It takes years to gain 
this "instinct" and even then it may be imperfect instinct. 
The inherent characteristic of every Art is that it re- 
duces its principles to terms, and if you do not understand 
those terms and the full meaning of each principle in all its 
aspects you are not an artist. You would not be able to 
discuss intelligently or intelligibly any given scientific sub- 
ject with the professional scientist. He would not under- 
stand you and you would not understand him at all. He 
talks in shorthand, you would be talking gibberish. You 
may occasionally see in the depths of night a gang of work- 
men making some repairs of an electrical trolley way. Great 
gasoline lamps flare up with a constant roar and throw a 
lurid light against the darkness and giving picturesqueness 
to the busy laborers. Here and there flames from a blow- 
pipe are shot against the joints of the rails. A superintend- 
ent is standing perhaps on the sidewalk. Address him and 
ask him what they are doing. My own personal experience 
in this particular matter was brief. The courteous reply 
of the superintendent was, "Do you know anything about 
electricity?" "No." "Then, I am sorry, I cannot explain 
it to you." In every Art everything, not one or two things, 
has a definite meaning. You would not think much of a 
mathematician who could not define a straight line, would 
you? He might have that idea of a straight line which 
perhaps every human being has, but if he could not define 
it, stripped of all manner of verbiage, and in its one scien- 
tific expression, he would not be a mathematician at all. 
It is not enough merely to know the terms themselves. One 
hears many people who have tinkered at the study of the 
drama and who think they know something of the Art 
constantly using terms without knowing what they mean. 
They talk about Unity with the perfect assurance that it 



THE DELUSION ABOUT DRAMATIC INSTINCT 3 

is absolutely clear to them and in the practical application 
of it they may be invariably wide of the mark. They speak 
of their plays as being full of Action when, in fact, there 
may be an utter absence of Action in them. They talk of 
Plot and have not the slightest idea of the definite and in- 
evitable requirements of a Plot. / In order to become a \~y 
master of this Art one must rid himself of generalities. 

It is very easy to be misled as to one's own knowledge of 
the Art of Playwriting. I was told by a dramatist of the 
highest distinction that it was only after the production 
of his fourth play that he realized the exacting nature of 
the Art and saw that there were one or two principles the 
extent and use of which he had had little or no conception 
As a play reader for managers I have been in a posi- 
tion for a score of years and more to note the beginning 
and progress of practically all the dramatic authors who 
have succeeded in that time. In most cases, the first manu- 
scripts submitted by these authors revealed little or no dra- 
matic instinct. There may have been abundant ability, 
there may have been very apt portrayal of character and 
scenes worked out with more or less effectiveness, but an 
all embracing Technique was invariably lacking. They 
have since learned the Art, and every honest dramatist 
among them will tell you that his experience began in 
comparative ignorance accompanied by self-confidence. If 
the Art is lacking and everything in a play, as a play, is 
wrong, what kind of instinct is that which instinctively 
does things wrong? !lf you_ have any idea that you have v2) 
dramatic instinct and that it was born in you, get rid of it. 
I have a contempt that I cannot begin to express, although 
my vocabulary is not altogether meagre, for people who 
claim to have been born with a knowledge of any Art. Art 
is a human thing. It has to be acquired/) I would like to 
take hold of these people and have them do the exercise 
work required to bring them to their senses. Many of them 
think that analytical work is not necessary or that their 
minds are so constituted that they are not analytical but 



4 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

what they call "creative." Get that out of your head. In 
playwriting, at least, there is no distinction between these 
qualities. You must be analytical or you will never write 
plays with any professional firmness of touch. The diffi- 
culty of enforcing analytical exercise work, however, I 
have found to be so great that I require it only in the 
answers to the Question Sheets. Of course an infinite and 
serviceable amount of analytical work may be done in the 
analytical study of plays without committing the results to 
paper, but the habit of analytical thought should be gained. 
I do not recognize aptitude except as it comes from knowl- 
edge, experience and training. You may have an ad-aptitude, 
but aptitude means skill. If one has been reared on or 
about the stage he may acquire it unconsciously, but this 
aptitude comes from having learned the Art in one way 
or another. Learning it primarily from the stage itself has 
its dangers, which will be explained later. It is easy 
enough to learn the Art superficially, but this is an Art 
that one must master completely if he has any self-respect 
or hopes for a career uninterrupted by deficiencies. 

Those people who think they have genius, and imagine 
that man is everything, are misguided egotists. They ig- 
nore, or pretend to ignore, the existence of Technique, or 
they may contend that technique is an indefinable thing and 
personal and private property. They even think that they 
have created Material. They are all wrong. Technique is 
what shapes the Material. The three elements, the 
Man, the Material, the Technique, exist with abso- 
lute distinctness, and each gets its value when the three 
are put together in combination. They must fuse as chemi- 
cal elements do in creating a new substance. As a practi- 
cal matter in playwriting, they are not only dependent the 
one upon the other, but the one helps the other. Technique 
suggests new material and stimulates the imagination. 
One man uses his technique better than another. Indi- 
vidual qualities are never absent. Everything* is co-opera- 
tive. 



THE DELUSION ABOUT DRAMATIC INSTINCT 5 

The art of playwriting, Technique and the Material 
for plays, are as absolutely distinct from you as are the sci- 
ence and the substances of chemistry. Do you think you 
could be a born chemist? It would take you three years of 
hard study in some laboratory under chemists who labor 
to give you instruction for you to acquire sufficient know- 
ledge to obtain a certificate of your proficiency. The State 
requires this certificate and does not permit born chemists 
to deal out death at their indiscretion and with their ignor- 
ance in the prescription departments of a chemical estab- 
lishment. The text books of the science are enormous in 
volume. New discoveries are being made constantly. How 
could you be born to a knowledge of something not yet dis- 
covered? By what biological process could you be a born 
chemist? 

Comparisons are not always conclusive, but it is 
absolutely certain that you can no more be a born play- 
wright than you can be born a chemist. I want to demol- 
ish this preposterous and, as I call it, and believe it to be, 
soul destroying idea for all time, and to attack it in as many 
different directions as possible. I The point in this attack is 
to urge the distinction between "the Man, the Material and 
the Technique. It alone should be conclusive. Of course, 
the Material that we have to do with in playwriting is appa- 
rently not so recondite as in chemistry and would seem to 
be something of universal experience and apprehension. 
Nevertheless it is something apart from the individual. 
This Material cannot be classified with the same complete- 
ness and minuteness as chemical substances are. Never- 
theless the emotions that you represent must have been ex- 
perienced by others than yourself, and you cannot attribute 
to them that which is impossible for them to have felt. You 
cannot create any Material in a real play in the sense of 
making it different from nature. New combinations only 
can be formed, and this depends upon the man in consulta- 
tion with his Technique. ] Naturally one experiences satis- 
faction in and assumes credit for all the niceties of spirit 



6 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

and of form that he gives his Material ; but it is easy 
enough for him to attach too much importance to him- 
self. Let us take the first example that occurs to us, 
Browning's "Blot on the 'Scutcheon." Browning is lauded 
as one of the greatest poetic or creative minds that ever exist- 
ed. The man undoubtedly had a great scope of mind and 
was an uncommon word monger, but how much of the ma- 
terial of "The Blot on the 'Scutcheon" did he create? Is it 
not a familiar and, in a sense, common-place bit of material 
out of literary ultra-romanticism, grounded, of course, in 
the possibilities of life? 

The Material may be so potential or actual in its relations 
to Technique or form that the play may write itself without 
any material indebtedness to the dramatist. How false and 
absurd the claim of dramatic instinct in a case of this sort 
is demonstrated by a very common result, the dramatist is 
never heard of again. He doesn't understand the art of 
playwriting, never succeeds in writing another play, and his 
subsequent manuscripts afford amazed amusement in the 
offices of managers. Can you doubt the independent exist- 
ence of the three elements described when you consider Sir 
Walter Scott and Dickens? These two novelists, the great- 
est so far in English literature, in their respective fields, pos- 
sessed more "dramatic instinct" than an infinite number of 
successful and even famous dramatists of many countries 
put together, but they worked with different tools from 
those of the dramatists. Their processes of thought were 
different. The form was different, and therein lies the 
) whole matter. Form implies a particular Technique.] Sir 
Walter Scott was observant of the drama and wrote a good 
deal about it, but he certainly was not a dramatist, and his 
practical knowledge of the laws of the stage was slight. It 
is not at all improbable that he could have become a drama- 
tist. Dickens was very close to the stage, one of the most 
intimate friends of Macready, constantly behind the scenes, 
was an excellent amateur actor and wrote a number of 
small plays, but he did not cultivate the form. Neither Scott 



THK DELUSION ABOUT DRAMATIC INSTINCT 7 

nor Dickens took the trouble to get at the details of the 
workshop. If the "dramatic instinct" of these men was not 
sufficient to enable them to write plays of the highest dis- 
tinctive quality by what chance is it that you have been 
born with a "dramatic instinct" that is equivalent to a com- 
plete Technique? 

If by the possession of dramatic instinct you mean that 
you have an innate knowledge of all that Aristotle commu- 
nicated to the world, of all that has been written upon the 
subject (a considerable part of which, however, is compila- 
tion of an uninformed kind), of all that the experienced and 
trained dramatist knows, you have a pitiful misconception 
of your own relation to the world and to human thought. 
If you confidently believe that you instinctively know all 
that some student may have gained in the toil of a well 
planned and essential obscurity, of privation, in the pursuit 
of elemental truths, you can take a little time for reflection 
and then apply to yourself that epithet which no one word 
in the English language can supply and which perhaps you 
may find in Esperanto, a combination of all languages. "In- 
stinct" is knowledge, whether it be in a bird building its 
nest or in a beaver constructing its dam. At all events, 
b) [Technique is a matter of knowledge ! Technique is science 
and art. It requires that everything that concerns it be 
definite and scientific, and "instinct" is too vague to be tol- 
erated for one instant. J Just as the art existed centuries be- 
fore you were born and will continue to exist centuries af- 
ter you perish in your vanity, so has existed, does exist, and 
will exist, independently of you, the Material out of which a 
play is made. You were no more born with an innate know- 
ledge of all the Material in the world or one atom of that 
Material than you were born with a knowledge, an "In- 
stinct," of the Technique. What are you and your thoughts, 
your imaginings and your combinations compared with the 
complexity of emotions and happenings between the my- 
riads of souls that live and have lived? Do yon think you 
are larger than the Material and more important than the 







8 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Technique? Man was created a little lower than the angels 
and, we may surmise, in all modesty, is not altogether a 
worm; but his powers are relative. He has no instincts 
that are not shared by every other human being in a greater 
or less degree. You may believe that you have the quali- 
ties of a dramatist. That is an altogether different matter. 
But what qualities? [The drama or its Material embraces 
every emotion felt by any human being. ; ; 



CHAPTER II. 



ANALYSIS. 

Q) ["What is analysis ? It is the taking apart of anything, the 
resolving of it into its elements, in order to discover its na- 
ture and the principles of its construction whereby it ex- 
ists and has its functions. It is the source of all scientific 
knowledge. It is something that every man of good and 
practical sense exercises in the simplest matter that he 
wishes to understand.^ He can tie a sailor's knot only 
when he finds out how it is done. He is on the road to un- 
derstanding if he takes a watch. to pieces in order to ascer- 
tain the relations of its various parts. He will not be a 
watchmaker until he understands also the principles that 
have led to the devising of these various parts. There is 
a certain mechanism about playwriting that is just as dis- 
tinct as the mechanism of a watch. Any contention to the 
contrary is the prejudice of ignorance. The principles re- 
main the same in the one case as the other. Remember that 
this refers only to the mechanism, principles of construc- 
tion and the law of the drama which must be obeyed by 
every one who attempts a drama, whether he be a genius 
or an ordinary human being. I may incidentally remark 
that many of our best plays are written by so-called ordina- 
ry people and that many of our worst plays are written by 
so-called geniuses. I do not believe it is possible for one 
to become an expert in playwriting without understanding 
Analysis. Do not make the mistake of thinking that it is 
not playwriting and that you are not beginning to learn 
playwriting when you begin with exercises in Analysis. 
In point of fact, it is playwriting, which, as I have already 
set forth, is a process of thought first of all.! Coming over 
on a steamer not a great while ago some one cornered Paul 
Potter, the dramatizer of "Trilby," which was played in 
many countries, a man whose mastery of Technique is 



10 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

as great as that of any other I know, and asked him "How 
one learned to write a play." That is a question that can- 
not be answered in a single word; but his answer comes 
as near covering the case as possible. His reply was "By 
analyzing plays." He added that he had analyzed a thous- 
and plays, and Mr. Bronson Howard, the first scientific dra- 
matist America ever had (apart from Bartley Campbell) told 
him that he had analyzed twelve hundred or more. Now,, 

Hj what does one discover on analysis? (He certainly finds that 
there are not one hundred new and different principles in 
each of these thousand plays and that the art of playwriting 
does not depend upon the caprice of each writer, but that 
it is systematic and can be reduced to system, one system, 
not a hundred systems, while the principles are compar- 
atively few, although there is infinite detail.*] He finds that 
it is the same art, whether exercised by Shakespeare or by 
Ibsen or by Henry Arthur Jones. This art is independent 
of genius. It is the same thing at all times ! It is a univer- 

(jfNsal keyboard. [We analyze with reference to the art, to 
mechanism, to the Technique. We have nothing to do with 
the qualities or general nature of a play. The play may be 
good or it may be bad. The Technique, and perfect Tech- 
nique, may be applied to something that has no value or 
which is abhorrent in morals and taste.j Reconcile yourself 
to that at the very outset. You will understand it fully 
after a little. Of course morality and taste and all the 
best human qualities should exist in a play, but that is not 
f(A the question. |_Jn making an Analysis of a play we take it 
apart with reference to the principles. To consider as a 
whole is not Analysis at all. To read a play for informa- 
tion, for its historical bearings in any sense, is for the gen- 
eral reader and not for the student. That kind of informa- 
tion is useful and perhaps indispensable, but it lies far away 
from the study of structure and how the play is put to- 
gether. One might know every play, or every important 
play, ever written and still have little or no understanding 
of Technique, which is to say, how they were written. We 



ANALYSIS 1 1 

must, then, take up the Analysis of a play, point by point, 
with reference to each established principle, such as Pro- 
position, Plot, Unity, Sequence, Cause and Effect and so on. 
In that way we master the play in Detail. We examine the 
application of every principle in every relation. The analyti- 
cal work at first is almost entirely directed to gaining a fa- 
miliarity with the meaning of the terms. We then expand the 
method of Analysis and consider each principle with refer- 
ence to every other principle.] We must first understand 
the Terms. If two people were talking about electricity, 
one an expert and the other with only a general and limited 
knowledge, not knowing exactly what was meant by Ohm, 
Volt, or Killowatt, a discussion would be fruitless and the 
expert would abandon it in disgust. ^Analysis and Criti- 
cism are two very different things. Any one on earth can 
criticise, but Analysis can only be applied by him who has 
a knowledge of the art. Criticism may be empty and ca- 
pricious. Analysis gets at the truth. One must gain a 
perfect understanding and command of the principles as a 
preliminary step toward applying them. ? How can it be 
said that any one is applying a principle if he does not know 
what the principle is? It is not enough that one may have 
a general knowledge. His knowledge must be specific. 
A general knowledge may serve for a while, but a crisis 
will come when it will not do. If you take the trouble to do 
the exercise work and to set down everything in black and 
white, or even if you think it out, following the method 
herein, you will gradually and finally realize the necessity 
of it and can apply the principles knowingly when you get 
to work on your own plays. You will then have a pleasure 
in the work that is not possible if you do not possess a 
living Technique. To have Technique on your side in- 
spires one with confidence. On the artistic side of a play 
there are many things that are not matters of opinion, but 
are facts of indisputable principle or Technique. MThe work 
of Analysis is of absolute importance, for it forms the habit 
of mind. It enables one to use the principles as tools. He 



12 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

must be so familiar with these tools that he can use them 
with perfect readiness and take up the exact tool needed for 
a certain bit of work. Of course, at first you will think 
that all this is academic and too formal. You will say 
that it is impossible for one to think of his subject and of 
all his tools at the same time, whereas, when one has a per- 
fect knowledge of all the principles he does not have to 
marshal all the knowledge at one and the same time in any 
conscious way. His principle will come to his help con- 
sciously only when he needs it. I have said that the exer- 
cise of this Analysis in Technique is playwriting itself; 
but assuming that you had or had not exercised Analysis 
in the writing of the play, there is a final use of it that can- 
not possibly be avoided, and that is in the revision of your 
play. There it has a most definite and final use. For in- 
stance, if one has not mastered Proposition and Plot and 
should discover, either on production of the play or on a 
close consideration of it, or should feel, without knowing 
why, that there is something wrong with the play, and if 
the defect were in Proposition and Plot he would never 
correct the fault, work as long as he might. 

I see an infinite number of plays that are faulty, both on 
the boards and in the manuscript, to which final value 
could be given if the author knew what was wrong in 
them. When an author becomes possessed of his subject 
and gets into the warmth of composition he may easily 
lose sight of accuracy, and accuracy in spite of the derision 
in which Technique is sometimes held means truth. In- 
cidentally it also means money. It stands back of all 
permanent success. It wards off failure. I am in no de- 
gree academic and I know from long experience and ob- 
servation that Technique is not an empty word and that 
Analysis is the first step toward gaining it. You will find 
that the whole tendency of this Course is to destroy con- 
ventionality and to give freedom to the man to establish 
the art and its methods firmly in him. The art should be 
gained before writing plays. Refuse to submit to it and 



ANALYSIS 13 

you may wander in the wilderness all your days long. 
This School was established in order to keep countless 
people from working in their own way with a contempt- 
uous disdain for Technique. I have read literally thousands 
of plays written by inexpert people in their own way, and 
some of them reveal work that is no better than it was, 
to my knowledge, twenty years ago. I am convinced that 
a year devoted largely to analytical work is necessary for 
most students in order to get them to secure the right at- 
titude toward drama. The simple question of time is im- 
portant. If one begins to write too soon, it becomes a 
process of unlearning, and that throws the b.urden of the 
work on the teacherj 

You will ask why these five plays were selected and you 
will object that they are not modern and recent enough. 
They were not selected with any particular deliberation, 
nor entirely at random, but because they answered the pur- 
pose in hand. They were and are successful and famous 
plays. Any play or plays of that description could have 
done just as well. HPublic taste may change, but dramatic \J ^ 
principle does not change. The application of principle is 
subject to betterment in the technical handling of material: 
but the principles remains the same in Ibsen or Shaw and 
no dramatist will ever overturn themj The modern and 
the most recent writers will be considered in another 
section of the course. If dramatic principle had to be de- 
rived from them, and was absent in all dramas before their 
time, and was as subject to fluctuation as the stock market, 
the art would be bottomless; in fact no art; whereas we 
can reach rock bottom and the foundation of all dramatic 
principle in these particular plays as well as in any other 
plays ever written. 'Analysis and technique have nothing 
whatever to do with history or the qualities of morality and 
aesthetics in a play. If "Camille" is an objectionable 
play to you, console yourself with this truth which I urge. 
You may criticise it as you will, but your criticism can 
never touch the technical side of it. "The Lady of 



14 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) 

Lyons" may be old fashioned in its sentiment, but the art 
of it, I mean particularly the essential dramatic principles 
to be found in it, will never become old fashioned. Dra- 
matic technique has improved in some details since the play 
was written, but the dramatic principle of it is sound. 

Analysis is only one of the methods that we shall use in 
our study, but it is one that is involved in every part of 
it, as we shall find as we attack dramatic principle from 
various points of approach. Analysis is involved in every 
step of play writing. As a method of learning it is infinitely 
more expeditious than the uninformed efforts at plays by 
one who has made no study of the art in plays written by 
masters of the craft. The individuality of the student is 
not concerned. His vanity is not touched. His errors do 
not have to be uprooted from the soil perhaps of obsti- 
nate and confirmed ignorance; it would be a superhuman 
task to teach a beginner by correcting his own more 
or less miserable compositions and to stop at every step 
in order to explain to him fully some dramatic principle. 
One might do it with his own child; but he could under- 
take to train but a few and could give a life time to those 
few and become prematurely old in the expenditure of his 
energies. I shall give some description of the labor in- 
volved in an intercalary chapter which I shall devote to 
amateurs. 

Analysis has many practical uses. It enables you to be- 
come familiar with the art in all of its aspects and to ascer- 
tain the actual methods and the causes of the excellence of 
any writer whose plays you may choose to subject to the 
process. You can ascertain to a nicety how Dumas, Sar- 
dou, Pinero, Clyde Fitch, Augustus Thomas, Suderman or 
any other writer has arrived at results. Analysis is the 
golden key to the whole artj 

I shall add, with entire confidence, and with all respect 
to sucessful dramatists, that the art does not depend upon 
these writers, but that it exists independent of them, large 
bountiful and exact, in the same manner in which any form 



ANALYSIS 15 

of nature exists. We can go back of these writers and es- 
tablish the principles in the very nature of the drama, and 
that I shall do in the philosophical section of our studies. 
Again, instead of learning from one's own self, (in some 
cases a very poor authority and source of information) 
one has the whole field before him for self instruction. He 
can pursue his investigation far beyond what the school 
attempts. I am only teaching you how to analyze. Until 
you have made a careful and repeated reading and study 
of the analysis in these pages of the five plays, confine 
yourself to these plays. I have not made every illustration 
of a given principle from the plays. I have simply shown 
you how to do it and abundant work remains to you to 
continue your investigation within the limits of these five 
plays, for the present. The principles and methods could 
be confirmed by limitless examples. That this is so does 
in no wise impair the stability of the principles, nor does 
it mean that one's work of analysis need be limitless. The 
confirmation of principle which will be encountered 
throughout your active interest in the drama will always 
be a pleasant experience, but when you realize a principle 
and feel secure in it your appointed task is at an end. 



CHAPTER III. 



THE METHOD TO BE PURSUED. 

) The first and most important thing for a student to 
recognize is that Playwriting is an art which has taken 
centuries to develop; that it requires time and applica- 
tion to master its requirements, and that he must have it at 
his fingers' ends before he can possibly possess the pro- 
fessional touch. It is no longer a crude art to be exercised 
by the first comer. The attitude to assume in approaching 
the subject is that the dramatic art is greater than you are, 
which it assuredly is, whoever you may be. You will find 
that out whatever may be your present opinion of yourself. 
We assume that you know nothing of the art, and begin 
with the elemental principles, proposing to carry you 
through the principles and methods up to the most complex 
reasoning. For the present, we shall devote ourselves ex- 
clusively to the analysis of plays. The method of instruc- 
tion and the process of learning may be illustrated by that 
pursued, let us say, in arithmetic or algebra. A text book 
on either science will, in a given chapter, work out a single 
example, reducing to rule, explaining the reasons and the 
law in full, and then furnish a sufficient number of exam- 
ples for the student to work out unaided except by the 
process and solution afforded in the model. [The principle 
once mastered, it can be applied by way of Analysis to all 
plays ever written or, in a practical way, to whatever you 
may be confronted with that needs solution in your own 
plays. The plays selected for Analysis contain every prin- 
ciple used in playwriting. They are thoroughly actable and 
effective. If they were unsuccessful and imperfect plays 
they would not serve our purpose.] The examination and 
discussion of bad dramatic syntax belongs to another sec- 
tion of our studies. No actual exercise is required of you 
until we reach still another section, the Question Sheets, 



THE METHOD TO BE PURSUED 1 7 

when Questions should be answered and illustrated by 
examples from all the plays that you may have analyti- 
cally read and studied in the meanwhile. This selection of 
a few plays to begin with is to concentrate your attention 
and to enable you to acquire those habits of research that 
are opposed to superficiality. [We shall cover the entire 
field down to the latest developments in forms of playwrit- 
ing, but I shall make it my business to demonstrate to you 
that the Principles we are to discuss are eternal, have al- 
ways been eternal, and have not been changed and will not 
be changed. Bear in mind that we are studying these plays 
with reference to Technique and pure principle only. ] That 
you would prefer other plays to begin with is nothing to 
the purpose. You are to learn the meaning of the Techni- 
cal terms and the application of the principles as you may 
discover them by analysis. The five plays used are "IN- 
GOMAR," "THE LADY OF LYONS," "CAMILLE," 
"STILL WATERS RUN DEEP," and "A NEW WAY 
TO PAY OLD DEBTS." Among the principles that will 
be treated separately are Theme, Material, Conditions 
Precedent, Proposition, Plot, Division into Acts, Division 
into Scenes, Action, Unity, Sequence, Cause and Effect, 
Mere Life, Mere Story, Mere Business, Mere Words, In- 
direction, Objectivity, The Unexpected, Preparation, The 
Self-explanatory, Compulsion, Facts, The Necessary and 
the Unnecessary, Character, Dialogue, Exits and En- 
trances, Episode, Scenery, Detail, etc. 

While Playwriting is an art, it is an art in the nature of 
an exact science. As a science it has certain fundamental 
truths which, like the axioms in geometry, must be accept- 
ed as a necessary prerequisite to a proper understanding of 
the art as attempted to be developed in the following pages. 

Among the truths which the student is asked to accept in 
the outset, and until they have been made manifest as they 
will be when he has proceeded far enough with the study, 
are the following: Every real play must have a Theme, a 
Proposition, a Plot ; it must be governed by Unity ; its 

2 






l8 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scenes must have proper Sequence ; it must have Action ; 
which in its turn must be developed in Proper Sequence 
and subject to the laws of Cause and Effect. And above all 
the student must accept as true the statement that in the 
building of a play, from the inception of the first hazy idea 
down to the conclusion of the last line, we are proceeding 
ever and always from the general to the particular, from 
that which is uncertain and unfixed to that which is spe- 
cific. 

From the outset, in the discussion of a given principle, 
frequent reference is made to principles which the student 
will encounter in the next chapter or in following ones, but 
the bearing of the reference will be sufficiently intelligible 
for the moment. A prefatory chapter summing up and ex- 
plaining all the principles might be given at this point, but 
my experience in teaching is that it is vastly more interest- 
ing to the student to have the art unfolded to him gradually 
and with constant newness, to the last syllable. He is put 
upon his enquiry and chastened by an incomplete under- 
standing in the first reading of what on a second reading 
will be entirely clear to him. 

This book is for the student and not for the casual reader. 
A single volume cannot exhaust dramatic principle and its 
application. We have a long journey before us. This vol- 
ume constitutes one stage or section of it only. Your inter- 
est will be sustained by constant novelty in new aspects of 
the principles and by new methods of study and of work. 
These things necessarily will be new to you, for they are 
in no sense the result of a compilation, but of an initiative, 
the necessity for which will be explained elsewhere. 



CHAPTER IV. 



THEME. 



The Theme of a play is the general subject, which holds 
throughout, but which reduced to a specific form becomes 
the basis of the play. 

There must be one leading and controlling Theme, with 
usually a subordinate Theme connected with it. There 
may be still other incidental Themes, but the main Theme 
must govern. We see at once that Unity is concerned in 
this and that the principles are interdependent, not one of 
them standing alone. We cannot discuss every aspect of 
a principle with reference to the plays in hand. We must 
take up things in their order. None of these plays has two 
or more Themes of equal importance, consequently we 
shall reserve discussion of plays defective because of such a 
Technical defect. All great plays or good plays are based 
on Theme. You have only to refer to Shakespere and 
Moliere to discover the truth for yourself. The ordinary 
commercial play is one of situations for the sake of situa- 
tions, and not for the sake of the Theme. Until we regard 
Theme of the first importance we shall have few good plays. 
Proceeding from the general to the particular, we reduce 
the general Theme to a specific one. "Romeo and Juliet," 
general theme, Love ; specific theme, Love, according to the 
limitations and conditions of the Proposition. 

Love, no doubt, has been the staple of the drama and 
has been more often used as a general Theme than any 
other; but it can assume so many different forms and exist 
under so many different conditions that we find it differ- 
entiated in numberless specific Themes. The general 
Theme of "Ingomar," its circumference, is Love, but 
specifically it is Love that conquers a Barbarian. Is not 
the play filled with Love as with the perfume of a flower? 
Is not purity in a woman's heart and nature exalted, and 



20 ANALYSIS QP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

should not all love be nourished on and be established in 
purity? Is not the play different from those erotic exposit- 
ions of so called Love in which a wife, with a marriageable 
daughter, the mother at least forty, is about to elope or is 
actually eloping with her "lover?" A general Theme, then, 
is a very wide thing and may reach to the depths of the 
universal heart. What reason have you to imagine that 
there is nothing in Theme and that it is only academic jar- 
gon? It is persistently and inevitably also a technical mat- 
ter. Upon what grounds have you a prejudice against 
Technique? There is not a scene in this play that does not, 
in one way or another, concern the purity and love of Par- 
thenia. The author, Baron Muench von Bellinghausen, 
stuck to his Theme. 

Very often the Theme of a play is expressed in its title 
or sub-title. In the case of "The Lady of Lyons" we 
find it Love and Pride. Although the Action of the play is 
laid at the time of the Revolution, and the atmosphere of 
war is felt, yet it is obvious that Bulwer did not make war 
or the Revolution his main Theme; if he had done so it 
would have been another play. He would have been 
ploughing another soil. The war and the revolution are in- 
cidental to the main Action and are called into it only as 
required. Bulwer stuck to his Theme. You will observe 
that his Theme is not merely Love, but that Pride is con- 
joined to it. This is entirely proper, for he makes his gen- 
eral Theme the idea of Love, then Love as it is influenced 
by Pride; the Theme of Love thus becoming a specific 
thing. He had a definite idea to start with in his investi- 
gation, or, he discovered after looking into his Material 
what his Theme was to be. If the Deschapelles had been 
rich aristocrats, Bulwer might easily have made his Theme 
Aristocracy and Love, or Caste and Love. Many plays 
have been written on both these Themes. On the other 
hand, he might have made Claude Melnotte an aristocrat 
and Pauline an attractive and innocent girl of the peasant- 
ry; we might have had a play on the order of Faust and 



THEME 21 

Marguerite. Love could be modified in so many ways, 
that by modifying it we could get a number of Themes. It 
is enough to see that this play has a definite Theme, that 
it is Love and Pride, and that this Theme influenced Bul- 
wer throughout the play. 

Dumas was helped to his Theme of "Camille" by an exist- 
ing combination of facts of which he had knowledge from 
a drama in real life as well as by his philosophy. He de- 
voted his life to preaching his philosophy concerning the 
social rights and wrongs of women by means of the drama. 
In our study of Technique we are not required to combat 
his point of view in this play. Dumas set out to prove to 
our hearts, if not to our prejudices, that a woman of the 
character of Camille may be regenerated by love and a su- 
preme sacrifice prompted by it. Here was a conviction. 
His Theme was a philosophical one. In proportion 
to his sincerity and purpose an author will hold to 
his theme. It thus takes care of itself. But suppose 
Dumas had yielded to the temptation to depict the vices 
and the manners of the society surrounding Camille, and 
had been looking for complications and situation mainly 
for the commercial purpose of making an entertaining 
play, he would not have held to his present Theme. Innu- 
merable opportunities for a different treatment were at 
hand. The Material could have furnished many plays ; but 
having narrowed his Theme down to a Proposition, he 
would have been false to his Proposition as well as to his 
Theme if he had not made the whole action bear upon the 
working out of his object. The Theme in this play is as 
constant as the note which runs through a piece of music. 
It is a specific Theme, an earnest Theme, and the Action 
of every part of the play is instinct with it. 

Byron, the author of "Our Boys," used to deride the idea 
of "bothering with Theme." Usually, too, there is no need 
to "bother" with it, but if it is disregarded it has a way of 
turning up and having its reckoning. It is our business at 
present to make a study of the elements that we find exist- 



22 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

ent in these plays. While the Theme is the first element 
in the order of our investigation, this does not imply that 
Taylor, in writing "Still Waters Run Deep," began the 
consideration of his subject with his Theme. Let us as- 
sume that he came across a story first, in which the princi- 
pal character, who is misunderstood because of his easy- 
going nature, loses authority in his own household and 
then regains it by the assertion of his real man- 
hood. In that case the Theme was obvious and 
suggested itself. It became specific as the story was devel- 
oped, but he retained that Theme necessarily if he retained 
the idea of writing a play on that Theme. The Theme 
once established, he could not depart from it, his obligation 
to the Theme becoming more and more important as he 
proceeded with the Action. Suppose he had not consulted 
his Theme and had used the mother-in-law idea instead of 
that of the dominating aunt. He would have found himself 
involved with a Theme strong enough to overwhelm his 
original plan of the play and offering something out of 
which a new or very different play could be written. Did 
he not have to "bother" with the Theme when the idea of 
the mother-in-law occurred to him, as it almost inevitably 
must have done? Thus, the Proposition is governed by the 
Theme. It is, at least, the Proposition which you elect 
to use from the many Propositions that could be made from 
the Theme. The dramatist has often to stop and consider 
his Theme when he feels that he is departing from it. The 
Theme of this play is not the rascality of Hawksley. If that 
had been the main idea to be worked out, the treatment 
would have been materially different, and it would, in fact, 
have made a different play. A Theme may have its comple- 
mentary Theme, if it does not always have it, and the ras- 
cality and character of Hawksley was subordinate to and 
complementary of the main Theme, that of the character 
misunderstood by those about him. The main Proposition 
has its subordinate Proposition, and so can the Theme have 
its subordinate Theme. If Taylor, in thinking his play, or 



theme: 23 

in writing his scenes, had found himself drifting off to ex- 
ploiting the detective side of the Action, he would have 
halted, as an expert dramatist, recognizing that he was not 
keeping to his Theme. The Unity of this play is very mark- 
ed in its aspects of Unity of Theme. That the main Theme of 
the play involves many subordinate Themes does not 
destroy the Unity of the whole. With the character of 
Mrs. Sternhold as one of the Themes, the romanticism of 
Emily another, and with still others, the author proceeded 
on his way, rinding his Proposition and Plot and always 
considering a proper subordination of his Themes. The 
dramatist does not necessarily get any part of his play first, 
not even his Theme. 

We are discussing plays in their finished form. We can 
begin our analysis with the Theme. It does not necessarily 
follow that an author has to begin with the Theme. Tay- 
lor may have suddenly discovered during his process of 
thought that he was not working on the right Theme and 
have changed it to the one we now have. There are many 
ways of proving that a Theme is essential. With the intro- 
duction of a society element and by making Hawksley sim- 
ply a spendthrift with reckless business methods and not 
a criminal, and having Mildmay overcome the influence of 
Hawksley over his wife in some other way than by defeat- 
ing his financial schemes, we have a kind not unfamiliar, a 
society play, with an incidental moral lesson ; but the play 
would have been something else. Take out of it the felo- 
nious nature of Hawksley's schemes and have it a business 
conflict between two men, the woman being played for, 
we have still another play. You may say that it is idle to 
imagine such things ; but the possibilities are all there, with 
the Characters, and unless you are governed by something 
you are just as apt to go in one direction as another. Theme 
is the first thing that restrains you. Sooner or later the 
Theme is absolutely necessary. It tinctures all the scenes. 
There is not a scene in this play in which the Theme of it, 
Mildmay's quiet resolution and his relations with his fam- 



24 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ily are not at work. This is a good play to keep in mind as 
proof that Theme means something, is entirely practical 
and cannot be ignored. 

The largest idea in Massinger's play of "A New 
Way to Pay Old Debts" is plainly the evil of acquir- 
ing wealth and power by means of oppression and un- 
fair methods, and particularly with reference to the develop- 
ment of character animated by such greed. The play is 
well named as it is, but it could easily be called "Sir Giles 
Overreach." Combined against Sir Giles are all the active 
agencies in the piece, and yet he towers above all other 
characters. He is a force for evil that does not diminish in 
its effect upon us to the very end. He is relentless and ter- 
rible in his moments of death. The foundering of a mighty 
battleship rent asunder in the conflict or the sudden col- 
lapse of a stately building is portentous and fills the imagi- 
nation with awe. The removal from earth of such a force 
for evil as Sir Giles, his existence involving and imperilling 
the lives of so many others, is of the same nature. Such is 
the magnitude of the character of Sir Giles, but only good 
comes from his destruction. The most exalted characters 
are Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth, but how small a part 
they play compared with Sir Giles. He is present in the 
mind of the audience all the time. Wellborn, who sets in 
motion the Plot of the play, is of slight interest compared 
with him. Allworth and Margaret are almost purely inci- 
dental. Sir Giles being acted upon, the Theme was devel- 
oped indirectly. Undoubtedly Massinger gave his first 
study to this Theme of Character. Much Material was 
gathered before the Plot shaped itself. The mechanism 
or Plot of the play is paltry, ingenious as it is, compared 
with the laying bare of such a nature. The Theme is very 
specific. It attached to a condition of affairs in England 
which Massinger knew intimately. A writer with a seri- 
ous purpose and a dominating Theme will not easily go 
astray, but if he is a meretricious writer and is constantly 
looking out for complications or comedy he can find them 



THEME 2j 

both, but to the detriment of his Theme. Massinger might 
have made Lord Lovell jealous of Wellborn, Lady All- 
worth might have mistrusted Lovell's real purpose with 
Margaret, and comedy scenes might have been obtained, 
but the more diverting they might be, the more divergent 
they would be from the Theme. Massinger could have made 
an Action out of Sir Giles' matrimonial attentions to Lady 
Allworth. Substantially the same Plot could have been 
used, but with a somewhat different Action because of 
some change in the Theme. A great deal of comedy could 
have been got out of this Material; and if Massinger had 
been writing only to amuse audiences, which some writers 
contend is the whole duty of the dramatist, he would not 
have written this true and noble play. He kept to his 
Theme and did nothing at its expense. 



CHAPTER V. 



THE MATERIAL 

The material of a play is that out of which it is construct- 
ed, its material elements. 

It is obvious that one might consider a Theme, of Love 
for example, without having thought of or determined upon 
a single incident or Character. It does not imply form at 
all. It may exist or it may have to be found. Of course 
there are fantastic forms in playwriting in which the un- 
bridled imagination can do its irresponsible work, but the 
closer we keep to Life the more worthy is our play. Plays 
grow out of a condition of affairs and proceed from the 
general to the particular, each step becoming more definite. 

The first knowledge of the art can best be acquired by 
analyzing what has been written. We first arrive at the 
principles and then at how to apply them. One must know 
the art before he can recognize fit Material. It would be 
premature to discuss the various processes of discovering 
or devising the material out of which a play is made. Our 
present concern is to study the Technique whereby the 
Material is shaped. Playwriting is a process of reasoning, 
and the mind cannot co-operate with the heart, with pre- 
cision, until it is able to think in dramatic terms, just as one 
must be able to think in a language before he can fairly 
claim to be its master. The trained dramatic mind is occu- 
pied much longer in gathering the Material and in con- 
structing the play, shaping his Material, than in the actual 
writing. How long or short a time it requires to "write" 
a play is immaterial, but if we assume that a year is given 
to it, three fourths of that time had best be applied to the 
preliminary and tentative research and thought. To dis- 
cuss Material at this time would lead us into a discussion 
of Methods for which we are not prepared. We must con- 
fine ourselves to the plays in hand. 



the; material 27 

The author of "Ingomar" may have arrived at his Ma- 
terial, or what we may call the Facts of his play by a pro- 
cess of induction or deduction. Both processes may be used 
in the same play. He may have had the central idea from 
a legend or story or poem, or he may have worked directly 
from his Theme. A way had to be found to get Parthenia 
among the Allobrogi. He had to proceed on Facts. One 
need suggested another need. A mere story was not suffi- 
cient; the Material had to be susceptible of dramatic treat- 
ment. Parthenia must go among Barbarians. What Bar- 
barians? Where? Why? How? Barbarians? Let us 
look up some Barbarians. In looking them up the author 
found much that he could use as Material and perhaps 
more that he could not, but he found a custom to hold pri- 
soners for ransom. That may have suggested for the first 
time the means of getting Parthenia to the camp. He 
found that they would cast lots tor the possession of a cap- 
tive girl. Don't you see the advantage of searching for 
Material and how it will meet you half way if you do? Is 
not that better than "sitting down and writing a play?" 

If you read the preface to "The Lady of Lyons," 
you will discern Bulwer's process of mind. He found much 
of the Material ready made and at hand. This does not 
mean that one should seek for an already existing story, 
but it so happens that Bulwer did find his first definite idea 
in a "very pretty little tale" called "The Bellows-Mender." 
Being thus led to the French Revolution, he instinctively, 
because he knew drama, felt that there was a drama in those 
troubled times. In meditating over and reading up his 
Material, may he not have rejected more Material than he 
used in the play in its finished form? Of course in its final 
shape, we have only that Material which he actually used. 
To that suggestive Material he added more. His raw Ma- 
terial existed in general facts and ideas and such details as 
he selected while gathering his Material. It is obvious 
that he selected his Material with reference to his Theme, 
which he soon decided upon in his process of thought. In 



28 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

determining upon Proposition, Plot, Characters, incidents 
and Action he was constantly electing Material as called for 
by the various structural parts of the play. The dramatist 
must have the Material out of which to make his play, just 
as a tailor m'ust have Material out of which to make his 
coat. 

The source of Dumas' Material for "Camille" has been 
referred to in the chapter on Theme. 

In preparing these exercises we are trying to go over the 
same ground covered by the dramatist himself. We get in 
"Still Waters Run Deep" an excellent example of what 
must have been his process of thought and method 
of construction and writing the play in the matter 
of gathering the material. Could any one suppose 
for an instant that when Taylor reached the writing 
or dialogueing of the scene between Hawksley and 
Mildmay in the second act, he wrote it ofT-hand? 
Hawksley tries his oily persuasion on Mildmay, believing 
that he had an easy customer for the shares in his Inexplo- 
sible Galvanic Eoat Company. He proceeds: "You under- 
stand algebra?" Mildmay admits that he knew a little of 
it at school. Then Hawksley : "Then let X and X/2 denote 
the respective cost of the two modes of carriage — while the 
two rates of profit are represented by Y and YI" — "Which, 
in algebra denotes an unknown quantity," suggests Mild- 
may. Then Hawksley: "Precisely." "Well A. and B. re- 
maining constant, let Y-A plus B/X be the formula for pro- 
fit in the case of steam, then YI equals A plus B/X divided 
by 2 will be the formula in the case of galvanic transport — 
or, reducing the quotation, YI equals 2Y, or in plain Eng- 
lish, the profit on galvanic transport equal to twice the pro- 
fit on steam carriage. I hope that's clear!" Unquestion- 
ably, Taylor had this oily, specious and confusing talk in 
his notes, in his Material, long before he knew exactly 
where and how he could use it. It is not impossible, of 
course, that when he reached this scene he found it neces- 
sary to stop work until he could look up the terms that 



thk material 29 

the rascally promoter would use in order to appear to have 
a profound and exact knowledge of his subject. Whether 
Hawksley's algebra has any significance or not in a scienti- 
fic way, Taylor wanted to make him a very formidable 
schemer and talker. It would not do to make him utter 
complete nonsense in figures. It would not have done to 
have Hawksley present an entirely reasonable proposition. 
It had to be plausible, susceptible of demonstration by a 
juggling with figures. The schemes of promoters must 
have been attracting attention in London. In fact, Dickens 
gave a novel to the subject about this time. Just as soon 
as Taylor determined that this was the kind of swindler he 
wanted, he looked up everything bearing on the subject un- 
til he felt satisfied that he had all the Material that would 
be needed, all that would characterize the rascal. Inciden- 
tally, he had to look up his algebra. Suppose, now, that 
this was one of the very first things he did investigate. Sup- 
pose that he had not even thought of Potter and Mrs Stern- 
hold, or any of the incidents of the Action ; suppose further, 
that he had no Plot whatever and perhaps no definite Pro- 
position, what would you call it but Material, pure and sim- 
ple? Just as truly Material as that Chaos out of which God 
made the world. For that matter, the dramatist begins 
gathering his Material from the moment he selects his 
Theme — or his Theme selects him, which, perhaps, is the 
better way. It is by no means improbable that Tom Tay- 
lor never knew what "earthing up celery" meant before he 
began gathering his Material for this play. The only differ- 
ence between the material of a play, and the Conditions 
Precedent of that play is, that the Conditions Precedent are 
selected from the general Material, and so made specific. 
The real dramatist goes to real life. He will find every- 
thing there waiting for him ; he does not create everything, 
he adapts it. If those characters had not existed in real life, 
this play would never have been written. They may have 
had characteristics of the moment which Taylor may have 
been the first dramatist to make use of, but, in a general 



30 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

way, they existed before Taylor was born. Go back, then, 
to nature for your Material, and trust to your art to make 
use of it. The minerals in the mines have to be delved for. 
No miner can manufacture gold, and no dramatist can cre- 
ate human nature. Your play must have substance. You 
must have Material in order to have everything about 
something. What shall bring discord into the family? 
What shall they quarrel about? Surely, they could quarrel 
about innumerable things. The causes of differences are 
endless. What shall they be in this case? Is it not worth 
while to determine beforehand? Does he not have to work 
gradually toward a given end? The Material that he 
chooses at one moment he may have to lay aside provision- 
ally or reject entirely the next. Taylor did not want a 
mother-in-law, for obvious reasons. He was not writing 
a play in which he would have to contend with such a dis- 
turbing force. So he did not select that Material. That 
Material was before him, however. The mother-in-law 
would have required her to have been the Theme. Mrs. 
Sternhold was formidable enough. Hawksley says, "Mag- 
nificent celery ! I congratulate you, my dear Potter, on so 
horticultural a son-in-law ; it's a pursuit at once innocent 
and economical." Potter replies, "Yes; I calculate every 
bundle costs about twice as much as in Covent Garden." 
That is all on that subject at the moment. Hawksley im- 
mediately turns the subject to the allotment of the shares. 
The necessity for gradation in opening the scene unques- 
tionably occurred to Taylor at the time of writing the scene 
or of preparing it, but it is almost certain that the remarks 
quoted were down in his notes, in his Material, before he 
saw where he was going to make use of it. Hawksley's 
method of paying court to Emily by his reference to Seville 
was as carefully planned beforehand in his Material by the 
author as it was planned by Hawksley. 

The way to get at substantial things is to get them in a 
substantial form to start with. Shakspere almost invaria- 
bly had material to work from. It is not advised that you 



THE MATERIAL 3 1 

find your story or Plot ready made, but the foundations of 
your play must be in the earth. All real plays are largely 
made up of real facts. Observation of actual things may 
supply the Material. "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is 
a real play, one of the most substantial ever written. You 
feel the truth of everything in it because it is taken from 
life. We have seen that Bulwer, although he was accre- 
dited with genius, did not attempt to make his plays out of 
nothing, that is, out of mere imaginings not based on Facts. 
It matters not where Massinger got his Material, many 
of the combinations he made of that Material existed 
independent of Massinger and before he made use of it. 
What a trivial vanity it is that some authors have that they 
must "create" everything, spin it out of their brains without 
recourse to the facts of the world. The prototypes of those 
characters were personally known to Massinger before he 
attempted to put them in a play, and where his acquaint- 
ance was limited he instituted investigation. The impres- 
sion left by this play is that Massinger left out nothing that 
was essential to a complete picture. He knew his subject 
inside and out. Sir Giles was not a creature of the imagi- 
nation. The servants at Lady Allworth's lived. They came 
into the play out of the abundance of Massinger's Mate- 
rial. It was his art that enabled him to use them. He had 
them in mind before he saw what he could do with them. 
This illustrates exactly what is meant by Material before 
it is converted into the cloth itself. There may have been one 
Sir Giles Overreach in England at this time ; there may have 
been ten, twenty; the evil of government by the aristocracy, 
with the appointment of magistrates to do their bidding, 
may have been a crying one. The play was about some- 
thing. The wrong suffered by Master Frugal was a serious 
matter as representing a common injustice. 

Frugal omitted, there would have been so much good 
Material lost. Frugal and the gentlewoman reduced to ser- 
vitude and the extortionate creditors of Wellborn not ser- 
viceable for the building of the main structure, were yet 



32 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

available Material as rubble ; none of it imaginary ; all tan- 
gible and so substantial, standing up like a Roman viaduct 
constructed so as to defy the centuries? Times may change, 
and thank God they do, but here is something human, the 
very reality of which gives it eternal human sympathy. We 
got but a glimpse of the gentlewoman serving Margaret, 
but we pity her and respect her as Margaret did. Some 
might call that a small part, but can you not imagine it 
played by an actress of perfect fitness for it, capable of 
flashing to us that heliograph message from over now three 
centuries? Material? Of course it is Material. What a 
bountiful provider with his Material was Massinger! How 
substantial the baked meats, the stag, the fawn, with "Nor- 
folk dumpling in the belly of it," the woodcock, the butter- 
ed toast and all the savory burden of the table ! Massinger 
had his foot on his native soil all the time.' England for 
Englishmen was his cry. Cease mere dreaming and empty 
imaginings and reach out your hand for the Material that 
lies about you in abundance. Massinger's observation, sym- 
pathy, philosophy, and the qualities of a many sided nature 
are here in this play. The Material lay within him as well 
as without. It was Subjective as well as Objective. But 
his sympathies and his philosophy were based on external 
realities. The world is so many magnitudes larger than 
any single individual that }^ou can do no better than to 
follow the example of Massinger in "A New Way to Pay 
Old Debts," and confine yourself to your own horizon. 
Your Material is within reach of your hand. 



CHAPTER VI. 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT. 

The Conditions Precedent are those Facts and conditions, 
active or passive, which exist before the beginning of the 
Action or the rise of the curtain. 

They are a part of the inchoate Material, but presently 
they become detachable, require a name or term, and I have 
elevated them into a principle. We do not know immedi- 
ately in considering our Material at what point our Action 
shall begin. As soon as we determine upon that, a part of 
the Material falls into the past and cannot be represented as 
happening, but must be introduced into the movement of 
the play according to the demands of the Action. These 
Conditions Precedent are not to be told all at once on the 
rise of the curtain, but they may be so distributed in the ac- 
tion that they may be more active in their new relations 
than in their past. The importance of this principle is so 
great that I give more space to it than it may seem to you, 
at this time, to require. A certain amount of exercise on the 
principle is commended as a means of gaining a habit of 
mind and a method of work. After reading over the Condi- 
tions Precedent assigned to the other plays, take up "Ingo- 
mar," find all the Conditions Precedent in it and note how 
they were introduced in to the Action. I also commend for 
exercise work the elaboration, within the play in hand, of 
every solution that is herein given. Take Action for exam- 
ple. It would make these pages too voluminous if I should 
give every illustration in a single play. I am only able to 
show you how to analyze. To learn rests with you. Once 
you know the way take the initiative. 

We shall merely point out to you the way of discriminat- 
ing and designating those facts and relations existing before 
the rise of the curtain that are distinctly Conditions Prece- 
3 



34 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

dent. We leave to you to minutely enumerate Conditions 
Precedent other than those we call attention to. Before 
the rise of the curtain, then, in "The Lady of 
Lyons," Pauline is rich and proud, the daughter of 
a tradesman, living with her father and mother, 
much sought after in marriage, for she is beautiful, and is 
ambitious to marry title at the time when the French Revo- 
lution had abolished all titles; she has a cousin, Damas, a 
•colonel in the army, who has risen from the ranks in two 
years, and he is democratic and not in sympathy with 
the pretension of Pauline and her mother. She has 
rejected Glavis, and Beauseant was a suitor, a man who 
retained all the pride of ancestry, but had lost his title in 
tthe Revolution; Claude Melnotte, the son of the widow of 
1:he gardener, cultivated and known from his manners as 
"the Prince," is secretly in love with Pauline, has been send- 
ing her flowers, and believes that, in the social conditions of 
France, his suit will be listened to; the Innkeeper has 
heard of all this. Melnotte lives in a cottage with his moth- 
er, and is a poet and painter ; M. Deschappelles is not a fac- 
tor in his household in social matters. The state of the 
country and all the characters and their relations belong to 
the Conditions Precedent. From these Conditions Prece- 
dent, the Action springs. They belong to the Material, but 
not until Bulwer determined at what point his Action 
should begin did they become while still remaining Mate- 
rial, distinctly Conditions Precedent. The spiritual things 
are also a part of the Material and Conditions Precedent. 
Brooding over this Material, Bulwer sooner or later dis- 
covered the luminous point about which the Action should 
center, the conflict of Love and Pride under the conditions 
of social upheaval. 

In "Camille," a material part of the past has to be 
translated into the present. Let us recount the conditions 
with some fullness. Two years before the opening of the 
Action, Camille, after a long illness, determined to visit the 
celebrated waters of Bagneres, to recover, if possible, her 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 35 

health. Nanine accompanied her. Among" the invalids at 
the hotel there was a lovely young girl, the same age as 
Mademoiselle Camille, suffering with the same complaint, 
and bearing such a resemblance to her that wherever they 
went they were called the twin sisters. The young lady was 
Mademoiselle De Meuriac, daughter of the Duke. Made- 
moiselle De Meuriac died. The Duke adopted Camille as 
his child, made her his heiress, and introduced her into soci- 
ety, where she was loved and honored. This was not two 
years since. She tried to please the world in which the 
Duke introduced her and sought to gain a position for her. 
It was pitiful. She was gentle, so childlike, it seemed that 
the spirit of the dead girl had left its innocence with her. 
Day by day all who knew her grew to love her. The Duke 
was called away. In his absence, the story of her past life 
reached the circle in which she moved. From that moment 
it was closed against her. She was shunned ; and in their 
cruel sneers they told her to go back to Paris and wear 
camelias. She did return to Paris — met old friends — who 
gave her a warm welcome. She was gayer than she ever 
was before. People wondered why she tolerated the atten- 
tion of the old Duke. They thought it strange taste because 
of the old Duke's tediousness. But Camille had a tender 
regard for him. He finds in her his only happiness and re- 
gards her as his own child. He supplies her with money. 
Varville and others do not take that view of their relations. 
Camille has been a working girl, an embroideress, and was 
very fond of Nichette, the pet name of a girl who used to 
work in the same room, a companion of hers. Camille made 
no secret of this part of her life. She retained her old friend- 
ship, and now that she was supplied with money she gave 
employment to her comrade. When she returned to Paris, 
Camille entered upon a life of gaiety, and was often at the 
opera. She is a disappointed woman, caring for no man. 
But she is given to luxury. Olimpe, Gaston, Prudence 
and Gustave are friends of Camille. with characters as set 
forth in the Action after it begins. Varville is very rich, a 



36 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

new suitor, persistent. Camille is known as the Queen of 
Camelias, and is fifty thousand francs in debt. Varville has 
offered to pay her debts. Camille has told him a hundred 
times that she does not want to hear of his love. Prudence 
lives as a neighbor in a house with windows opposite to 
Camille's. She is a milliner, with but one customer — Ca- 
mille. She "is a good soul, with a heart as light as her 
purse." Armand Duval is the son of a gruff, crusty old gen- 
tleman, who was sometime Receiver-General at Tours. The 
family is one of distinction, moving in the best circles. His 
mother is dead. He is not the only child ; he has a sister, a 
sister whom he loves. Armand has been madly in love with 
Camille for the last two years ; when she was ill, before she 
went to Bagneres, confined to her bed for three months, a 
young man who would never leave his name called every 
day to learn how she was. She was told of this at the time. 
It was Armand. Camille's malady still exists. When she 
has her attacks she is better alone. Her feverish excitement 
in her mode of life is bringing her to the grave. The Duke 
allows her thirty thousand francs a year. She is a woman 
of the world — friendless — fearless, loved by those whose 
vanity she gratifies — despised by those who ought to pity 
her. She has heard all kinds of protestations of love, and is 
inclined to believe none of them. Armand has worshipped 
her in silence ; he has cherished for six months a little but- 
ton which fell from her glove. Camille's companions are 
gay; they indulge in all sorts of revelry. They sing and 
dance; they have much gossip between them; they are ut- 
terly frivolous and selfish. Olimpe is a gourmand. Camille 
has learned her lesson of rejection by society, and does not 
harbor the remotest hope of regaining position. Her own 
estimate of herself is firm; she does not consider herself 
worthy of a good man's love. She is not in a state of mind 
to entertain the thought of it at the time the Action begins. 
She regards no protestations of the sort seriously. She has 
had moments when visions of a future flitted across her 
brain. "Every heart has its silent hours, and so has mine; 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 37 

and in those hours I often sit and think there is a happier 
life than the one I lead, if I could find it. I think if I can 
lend a charm to such a life as this, and win the admiration 
and respect of the worthless crowd who follows me, what 
would it be in the sacred circle of a home, among- those who 
loved and cherished me? Can such a future be in store for 
me, I ask? and then the past spreads over me like a pall. A 
merry laugh bursts forth in mockery, and I am gay again." 
Camille's condition of mind is further described. Nichette 
is engaged to Gustave. Nichette is a good girl ; Camille re- 
gards her with tender interest because of this. Nichette has 
often said to Gustave that she wished Camille would meet 
with some one who would love and cherish her — who would 
win her from the feverish life she was leading; and teach 
her contentment in one more tranquil and enduring. Ni- 
chette is very happy with Gustave. They live in two cham- 
bers in the fifth story, in the Rue la Blanche — a window 
that overlooks half Paris — "a trellis where I have planted a 
geranium, the first flower Gustave ever gave me — and how 
it grows ! No wonder, for I sit and sew by it, and watch it 
all day." The home is cozy — just large enough to hold con- 
tent. Gustave is a lawyer, and has just had his first case, in 
which his client was condemned to ten years imprisonment. 
A condition precedent to the scene between Camille and 
Duval is that Armand's sister is engaged to be married. 
It is a love that has been the dream of her life. But the 
family of the man has learned of the relations between Ar- 
mand and Camille, and declared the withdrawal of their con- 
sent unless the relations were given up. This withdrawal, 
of course, does not belong to the Conditions Precedent be- 
fore the beginning of the Action, but like them this condi- 
tion does not have to be acted out, but has to be made of 
the present. That Armand has written a letter to his law- 
yer directing him to dispose of the gift of property from his 
dead mother, and that the father is angry with him for it, is 
a condition of this sort. It has arisen during the Action, but 
it does not have to be acted out, for we accept the facts as 



38 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

logical. The last act contains only Conditions Precedent 
which have arisen during the Action ; that is to say, there 
is nothing new in the way of Conditions Precedent to the 
beginning of the Action of the play itself. It will be ob- 
served, however, that certain things have happened or may 
happen as Conditions Precedent, but these Conditions are 
always logical and do not require proof. The conditions pre- 
cedent of Character exist, of course, before the rise of the 
curtain, but they may be referred to the study which the au- 
thor makes of them. All this belongs to the careful prepara- 
tion made by the author and represented in his notes. He 
makes sure of his ground. He does not wait to invent his 
Condition Precedent as he goes along. 

The Conditions Precedent in the material of "Still 
Waters Run Deep" are uncommonly numerous. The 
criminality of Hawksley in forging two bills existed 
four years before the beginning of the Action. If 
we should set down here all the details of this affair, 
we should have to quote in almost its entirety Mild- 
mjay's account of it to Hawksley. It is not necessary to 
do so here, but the student should take the trouble in one 
or two plays to give every particle of the Conditions Prece- 
dent, for it is practice work in retracing the steps of the 
author. He was compelled to be definite. One should fortify 
himself against doubts before he reaches the critical mo- 
ment where everything depends upon the selection of the 
facts. The Conditions Precedent have to be shaped before 
one begins to write a play ; he cannot safely proceed without 
them. The Process of thought in gathering the material and 
shaping the Conditions Precedent is a part of the work de- 
signed to facilitate execution. If one does not work by 
method and does not shape his Conditions Precedent, he 
may be compelled to remodel the structure of his play con- 
tinually while writing, whereas he should be freed from all 
anxieties when he writes, for he has enough to attend to 
without being disturbed by things which should have been 
settled. It is in passing this material through the alembic of 



the: conditions precedent 39 

the mind that the facts become definite. The chyle is con- 
verted into blood. It is not often that a play can be written 
off-hand, wtihout this process of preliminary thought. In a 
way, a play is rehearsed in the mind or "written" over and 
over again. If this process is not pursued, the play may be 
"finished," and then follows the foolish labor of having to 
actually re-write the play, or, as sometimes is the case, to 
write another play out of the same material. The result is 
that when a play is written in the slipshod manner of those 
who do not do any thinking or collecting of material, their 
finished play is after all merely material. It is not a play at 
all. 

It is easy to surmise some of the operations of the dramat- 
ist's mind in shaping some of the Conditions Precedent in 
this play. For instance, the material may have been got 
into some order, the attempt of Hawksley against Emily 
may have become sharply defined, and then it probably 
occurred to the author that it would be harsh or repulsive 
and vulgar if Emily had not been acquainted with Hawks- 
ley before her marriage. Hence comes the touch that oper- 
ates in the Conditions in the talk between Potter and Mrs. 
Sternhold. It is of the Conditions Precedent that Hawksley 
is considered a gentleman. He is a man of the world, a 
dead shot who can snuff a candle at twenty paces; he is 
exceedingly crafty and brilliant at figures in a financial 
transaction. Potter has every confidence in him. Hawks- 
ley is vastly agreeable, "the sort of man one's always glad 
to see." He has shown some penchant for Emily before her 
marriage, as Mrs. Sternhold says ; and if, as Potter says, 
Mrs. Sternhold had not set her face against it, Emily and 
Hawksley might have made a match of it. Mrs. Sternhold 
had always thought that Emily had no fancy for Hawksley. 
Before the Action begins Potter has seen some evidence of 
the familiarity between Emily and Hawksley which has 
caused him to suspect their relations. They have been very 
careful in the presence of Mrs. Sternhold, and she has not 
had an opportunity to see it ; but they have paid no attention 



40 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

to Potter, ("they don't mind him.") He has intended to 
talk to Emmy about it ever so long, the Conditions Prece- 
dent existing for a long time — "but he didn't like to." Pot- 
ter has been in the habit of taking the "Globe" — the paper 
published yet — when the postman comes and going to the 
library to read it. We have seen also that he is in the habit 
of falling asleep in the afternoon after dinner, but that he 
would never admit it. How many glimpses of the present 
and the past conditions of life in the household we get by 
these little touches introduced in a living way in the Action 
of the moment; Potter has always thought it was a great 
comfort to have such a superior sister in the house ; she has 
always saved him so much trouble in making up his mind. 
Hawksley has given Bran, the mastiff, to Emily, and Bran 
knows his old master. Emily always sits up late reading 
"in this room." The eight thousand pounds under Emmy's 
settlement should have been paid by Potter two months 
ago. Mildmay knows that Potter has invested some of the 
money for him, "thinking that he would not object." In 
fact, Hawksley had told it to Mildmay last night in trying 
to persuade him to invest more, urging that Potter thought 
well of the investment. Mildmay has been having Gimlet 
look matters up. You can find many more Conditions Pre- 
cedent in the play and convince yourself that they were 
thought out, for the most part, before the writing of the 
play. 

Shakspere bodies forth the time. Massinger does the 
same thing in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts." While the 
dramatic art in it is strong, it is not a play of mere expe- 
diencies, or complication or situation for the mere sake of 
complication and situation. It is built of substantial mate- 
rial and is itself solid. 

Let us consider the state of affairs and some of the Condi- 
tions Precedent before the beginning of the Action : Well- 
born has been reduced to poverty partly by his riotous liv- 
ing and excesses in drink, and is "threadbare and tattered." 
Tapwell, the innkeeper, has profited by the prodigality of 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 41 

the spendthrift. He was born on Wellborn's father's land, 
"and proud to be a drudge in his house." When Wellborn's 
father died the estate came to him, and Tapwell became his 
under butler. Wellborn soon ran through his land, his 
"credit not worth a token," he grew a common borrower 
from everybody, "no man escaped" him. Poor Tim Tapwell, 
with a little stock, some forty pounds or so, bought a small 
cottage, and humbled himself to a marriage with Froth. 
He is an "ungrateful hound," is this Tapwell. Wellborn 
had "made purse" for him in his day of prosperity, and 
Tapwell licked his boots, and thought his holiday cloak was 
too coarse to clean his young master's boots with. Why, 
man, it was Wellborn himself who gave Tapwell the money 
needed to make up the "sum required for the purchase of 
the inn. The way it came about was that Wellborn had 
heard him say or rather swear "If ever he could arrive at 
forty pounds, he would live like an emperor," and the 
young prodigal gave him the wherewithal in "ready gold." 
Oh, this Tapwell was a wretch from his natal day, a "viper, 
thankless viper." Wellborn had beggared himself to make 
such rascals rich. Of course he should not have dissipated 
his patrimony thus. Old Sir John Wellborn, the quondam 
master of Tapwell, Wellborn's father, "was a man of wor- 
ship, bore the whole sway of the shire, kept a great house, 
relieved the poor, and so forth." He died and left his 
estate to his son, who then becomes "a lord of acres, the 
prime gallant." He had a merry time of it; hawks and 
hounds, with choice of running horses ; mistresses and such 
other extravagances; which his uncle, Sir Giles Overreach, 
observing, resolved not to lose the opportunity, on statutes, 
mortgages, the binding bonds, awhile supplied his folly, and, 
having got his land, then left him. Wellborn has a friend 
in Allworth, whose stepmother, Lady Allworth, since his 
father's death, has been a deep mourner, and, by reason of 
love for the dead father, favors the son so that he feels that 
he cannot pay too much observance to her. There were few 
stepdames as she. She is a noble widow, and keeps her 



42 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

reputation pure and clear. She has suitors in abundance, 
e'en the best in the shire, such as sue and send and send 
and sue again; but to no purpose. Their frequent visits 
have not gained her presence. Yet she is far from sullen- 
ness and pride. She is about thirty, I think, not too old 
for a suitable match with Wellborn if her love had lit on 
him ; charmingly gracious, hospitable to a degree naturally, 
but she has a house full of retainers and all the means at 
her command to maintain her estate. To know her was to 
love her. You would have been charmed, I am sure. She 
possessed an accomplishment that befitted her station, she 
was a good housekeeper. Her authority was maintained 
with dignity. A woman of great resolution of character 
was Lady Allworth. Wellborn was older than Allworth; 
it was Allworth's father who was Wellborn's friend first. 
Young Allorth is in love with Margaret, the daughter of 
Sir Giles. Wellborn' has heard of this love. He knows of 
Allworth's "walking in the clouds." Allworth recognizes 
the character of the base churl, her father ; but he feels that, 
"if ever the queen of flowers, the boast of spring, the rose, 
sprang from the envious briar," there is a disparity between 
the goddess of his soul and Sir Giles. The old cormorant 
has ruined the state of both these young men. Why, Sir 
Giles, "to make his daughter great in swelling titles, with- 
out touch of conscience will cut his neighbor's throat." 
Young Allworth is a boy that lives at the devotion of a 
stepmother and the uncertain favor of Lord Lovell. These 
servants of Lady Allworth's, I think, would have been in 
better discipline if their mistress had not withdrawn from 
society and abandoned entertaining. Furnace no doubt was 
getting his wages regularly, but he was engaged to please 
her palate, and now she had even foresworn eating. When 
he "cracks his brains to find out tempting sauces, when 
he is three parts roasted, and the fourth part parboiled, to 
prepare her viands, ,she keeps her chamber, dines with a 
panada, or water gruel, his, sweat never thought on." Still, 
there are harpies who come to feed on her, pretending to 



the: conditions precedent , 43 

love her; particularly a thin-gutted squire "that's stolen 
into commission." Meat's cast away on this Justice Greedy, 
"his stomach's as insatiate as the grave." All this makes 
Furnace so angry that when provoked, he is even angry 
at his prayers. This Lady Bountiful has many servants, and 
idle times were on them so they got fat and saucy. There 
was Order, the steward, who had his staff of office, a chain 
and double ruff, symbols of power. Why, goodness alive, if 
any of the servants under him missed his function he made 
him forfeit his breakfast and denied him the privilege in 
the wine cellar. Amble was my Lady's gobefore. About 
all the servants had to do at this particular time was to 
wrangle. No hurt was meant in it all. Allworth was his 
father's picture in little, and the servants respected him. 
Lady Allworth had her maids, I warrant you. "Sort those 
silks well. I'll take the air alone." Allworth's master, 
Lord Lovell, a soldier, was about to go to the Low Coun- 
tries. But it is plain that he has a weather eye on our 
Lady Bountiful, and, first having deputized Allworth to 
kiss her Ladyship's fair hands, intends to present his ser- 
vice in person. Lady Allworth looks with great favor on 
young Allworth, and leaves to him his course of conduct. 
Allworth is much devoted to Lord Lovell. Still she is 
always ready to give him good advice, for her ever honored 
husband, some few hours before the will of heaven took 
him from her, recommended him to her charge by the 
dearest ties of love between them. Naturally, Allworth 
was bound to listen to her with much respect as if his 
father lived in her. She had showered many bounties on 
Allworth ; he will do whatever she says. The father's 
message to his son, in case he followed the war, was that 
it is a school where all the principles tending to honor are 
taught; not a place for those who repair thither to presume 
that they may with license practice their lawless riots ; for 
then they would not merit the noble name of soldiers. No; 
he wanted his son to obey his leaders and shun mutinies; 
to bear with patience the winter's cold and summer's 



44 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

scorching heat; to dare boldly in a fair cause; and, for 
country's sake, to run upon the cannon's mouth undaunted. 
That was what the old man thought, rest his soul ; for these 
were the essential parts that made up a soldier; not swear- 
ing, dice, or drinking. Again, Allworth was to beware of ill 
company. It was a wise dead man who was telling these 
tales ; for men are like to those with whom they converse. 
Lady Allworth had certainly been thinking of Wellborn 
before the curtain rose, for she had no regard for him ; his 
manners are so depraved; it is not because he is poor, for 
that rather claims her pity; but the poor fellow has lost 
himself in vicious courses. She is well aware that her late 
husband, Allworth's father, loved Wellborn, while he was 
worthy of loving, but the late Allworth, senior, would cast 
Wellborn off now. She most certainly had it in for Well- 
born — before the curtain rises. Ah, here is an interesting 
Condition Precedent: Six days since there came from Hull 
a pipe of rich Canary, which shall spend itself, vital and 
generous wine that it is, for my Lady's honor. It is of the 
right race. Besides, there came last night, from the forest 
of Sherwood, the fattest stag that Furnace ever cooked. 
In fact, a part of it had been prepared for dinner — before 
the curtain rises, and baked in puff-paste. Sir Giles is 
generally accompanied by Marrall, his man of affairs, and 
Justice Greedy, who is ready to put off the trial of a case 
at any time for the trial of a dinner, according to statute, 
Henrici decimo quarto. Greedy is ever ready to grant 
any warrant called for by his master, the cormorant of for- 
tunes, he the glutton of food. Wellborn is proud in spite 
of his rags. He has no humbleness before servants. He 
knows that blood runs in his veins as noble as that which 
swells the veins of Lady Bountiful. Before the curtain rose 
on the second act, no doubt, Wellborn intended to call on 
Lady Allworth. He knew what he was going to say to her. 
Was not Lady Allworth's late husband once in his fortune 
almost as low as Wellborn is now? Wants, debts, and 
quarrels, lay heavy on him. Did not Wellborn relieve him ? 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 45 

Did not Wellborn's sword on all occasions second his? 
and when in all men's judgment he was sunk, and in his 
own hopes not to be buoyed up, did not Wellborn step unto 
him, take him by the hand, and set him upright? Of course 
he did. Lady Allworth knew it all the time, and Wellborn 
knew she knew it, and everybody knew it, and Wellborn is 
going to tell her "lest she forget." Lady Bountiful surely 
had forgotten a few details concerning her late husband. 
In point of fact, she made him master of her estate when he 
was little better off than Wellborn is. She married him 
on his shape, but "to that shape a mind made up of all 
parts, either great or noble, so winning a behavior, not to 
be resisted, madam." He knew where he would hit her. 
He had the facts on her. You may rely on it that when she 
is reminded of these facts about her late husband she is 
going to help Wellborn, it matters not what she thought 
before the rise of the curtain. He is not going to borrow 
sixpence of her. He intends to touch her for something 
large. He is going to ask her to "quit all his owings, set 
him trimly forth, and furnished well with gold." Let us 
all hope that he will prosper in his design to have Sir Giles 
believe that Lady Allworth has taken him into her favor 
as a suitor. I do hope Sir Giles will fall into the trap. He 
is such a scoundrel, the forerunner and prototype of the 
magnates who form trusts, employ rascally lawyers, bribe 
legislatures, and the like. He has no mercy on the weak. 
He ruins all the poor farmers. It was for "these good ends" 
he made Greedy a justice. "He that bribes his belly, is 
certain to command his soul." The reason he put the thin- 
gut in commission was that he himself, not being a justice, 
is out of danger. If he himself were a justice, besides the 
trouble, he might, out of wilfulness, or error, run himself 
into a praemunire, and so become a prey to the informer. 
No, Sir Giles would have none of it. He had Greedy to 
take all the risks and serve his purpose; "Let him hang, 
or damn, I care not ; friendship is but a word" ! He does 
not value anything but worldly wisdom ; "for the other 



46 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

wisdom that does prescribe us a well-governed life, and to 
do right to others, as ourselves, I value not an atom." He 
must have all men sellers and he the only purchaser. He 
has thought of a way to ruin Master Frugal, who, it is said, 
will not sell, nor borrow, nor exchange; and his land, lying 
in the midst of his many lordships, is a- foul blemish. He 
will buy some cottage near his manor; which done, "I'll 
make my men break ope' his fences, ride over his standing 
corn, and in the night set fire to his barns, or break his 
cattle's legs; these trespasses draw on suits, and suits ex- 
penses, which I can spare, but will soon beggar him. When 
I have harried him thus two or three year, though he sue 
in forma pauperis, in spite of all his thrift and care, he'll 
grow behind-hand." Here is a fit opportunity for you to 
establish your conviction that this is not an idle gathering 
together of facts from the play but that they are the things 
that were thought out before a line of the play was written. 
What has all this to do with the immediate Action as it con- 
cerns the Plot and Wellborn? In what way is Master 
Frugal concerned with the fortunes of our young spend- 
thrift who has invented a new way to pay old debts? They 
are Conditions that make the weave thick and strong. We 
may even call them passive Conditions Precedent, hardly 
of the Action of the Plot, but still of the Action. The scene 
and other details never in the world came into existence on 
the spur of the moment, but by premeditation. "Then, with 
the favor of my man of law, I will pretend some title ; want 
will force him to put it to arbitrament; then, if he sell of 
half the value, we shall have ready money," (just as mod- 
ern as Ready Money Mortiby), "and I have his land." Sir 
Giles has been wondering all the while how it is that cold 
nor hunger will kill Frank Wellborn. It is a parlous thing, 
for Marrall caused his host, the tapster, last night, to turn 
him out of doors, and has been since among all the friends 
and tenants of Sir Giles to charge them, on the forfeit of 
the favor of the great man, not to relieve him, though a 
crust of mouldy bread would keep him from starving. This 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 47 

he did before the curtain rose, you will see. Lord Lovell, 
the gallant-minded, the popular Lord, is the minion of the 
people's love. Sir Giles has had his eye on him as a match 
for his daughter. His ambition is to have her marry a 
title, to be honorable, right honorable; and he is willing 
to give his ill-gotten gains to this end. He has long har- 
bored this thought. It is a relief to his sordidness, a bit of 
humanity in him. But he is pitiless in the means which he 
will use. He will have her well attended in the estate 
which he shall procure for her. "There are ladies of errant 
knights decayed, and brought so low, that, for cast clothes 
and meats, will gladly serve her; and 'tis my glory, though 
I come from the city, to have their issue, whom I have 
undone, to kneel to mine, as bond slaves." He will not 
have a chambermaid that ties her shoes, or any meaner 
office, but such whose fathers were right worshipful. " 'Tis 
a rich man's pride! There having ever been more than a 
strange antipathy," between men like him and true 
gentry. It may be well to observe that Wellborn is the son 
of Sir Giles' sister. Surely there is a touch of tenderness 
in this for any but a heart of flint as Uncle. Wellborn's 
given name is Frank, if you please. Massinger knew it 
before the curtain rose and poor Frank's highest wish on 
Sundays used to be "cheese-parings and brown bread." 
Yesterday, you thought yourself well in a barn, "wrapped 
up in pease-straw." Marrall knows the stable of Lady 
Allworth, and has never dreamt of dining at her table. Sir 
Giles, by the way, lived in state himself, spending his ill- 
gained money in his ambition for his daughter. This Sir 
Giles himself feeds high ; keeps many servants, rich in his 
habit, vast in his expenses. No wonder, he frights men 
out of their estates, and breaks through all law nets, made 
to curb all men, as they were cobwebs. No man dares re- 
prove him, such a spirit to dare and power to do, were 
never lodged so unluckily. No doubt many a usurer today 
is good to his family. If Wellborn succeeded in marrying 
Lady Allworth he would come into possession of a glebe 



48 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

land called Knave's Acre. Sir Giles is somewhat inclined 
to grow stout, and is not disinclined to walk instead of 
riding at times, so that he may keep "from being pursy." 
Sir Giles has attempted to see the widow TEN TIMES 
since the death of her husband, and has been unable to get 
audience, though he came as suitor. Allworth has trusted 
Lord Lovell with his soul's nearest, nay, Margaret's dearest 
secret, and he will keep it as in a cabinet locked, treachery 
shall never open it. He has found Allworth more jealous 
in his love and service to him than he has been in his re- 
wards. The fact is, Lord Lovell has been more of a father 
to him than a master. Lord Lovell has been untainted in 
all his Actions, and he will be faithful to Allworth when he 
meets Margaret although she has wealth and beauty. Sir 
Giles Overreach has heaps of ill-got gold, and as much land 
as would tire a falcon's wings in one day to fly over. It is 
about a half hour's ride from the outskirts of Lady Allworth's 
park to Overreach's house. Margaret is attended by Lady 
Downfallen as a servant; she likes her better as a com- 
panion. She pities her state. Margaret is virtuous, not a 
woman to agree to what is in her father's mind as to her 
conduct toward Lord Lovell. Margaret is modest too; 
she recognizes that she "is of low descent, however rich." 
Sir Giles has forbidden Allworth in his house; he knew of 
the affair between him and his daughter. We must not 
forget, among the Conditions Precedent, Wellborn's "in- 
ward linings" — "Howe'er his outside's coarse, his inward 
linings are as fine and fair as any man's." He has pawned 
a trunk of rich clothes before the rise of the curtain. It is 
four miles from Sir Giles' manor-house to Lady Allworth's. 
As it was one mile from the park gate, it must be three 
miles within the grounds. Sir Giles wears a signet ring. 
This seat of Lady Allworth's is well wooded and watered, 
the acres rich and fertile; and the mansion is a well built 
pile. Much has been herein recited concerning the charac- 
ter of Sir Giles. We might add much more that properly 
belongs to the Conditions Precedent; as, for instance, that 



THE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT 49 

he is not made wretched by the curses of whole families. 
No, only as "the rocks are, when foamy billows split them- 
selves against their flinty ribs, &c." Wellborn used to 
lodge upon the bankside, and he broke a vintner by not pay- 
ing for muscadine and eggs, and five pound suppers, with 
after drinkings. A tailor went down also under his reck- 
less extravagance without paying his bills. Sir Giles holds 
the deed by which Wellborn passed over to him his estates. 
Marrall was a party to the cheat. Parson Wilde is bene- 
ficed at Overreach's manor at Got'em. The deed from Well- 
born has slept, with unbroken seal, in Overreach's cabinet 
these three years. Wellborn has disposed of land that had 
continued in the family name for twenty descents. It was 
worth ten times more than Sir Giles paid him. Besides, 
the original document was a trust deed. All the facts 
herein set down were established in the author's mind be- 
fore the writing of the play and not necessarily with refer- 
ence to where he would use them. 



CHAPTER VII. 



THE PROPOSITION. 

A dramatic Proposition is the brief logical statement or 
syllogism of that which has to be demonstrated by the 
Complete Action of the play. 

Its simplest and perhaps its universal form so far as I 
have been able to discover, is a statement in three clauses, 
first, the conditions of the Action, second the cause of the 
Action, third, the result of the Action. This third clause 
involves the problem and may be put as a problem. Let 
us first consider a play that is familiar to every reader and 
theatre goer, "Romeo and Juliet." Shakspere has 
his material for this play in the shape of an Italian romance. 
The wonderful thing he did consists mainly or notably in 
the application of his art to it. It is sheer nonsense to im- 
agine that Shakspere wrote unpremeditatedly and without 
a systematic and conscious Technique. With the possible 
single exception of Massinger, he was the only dramatist 
of his period who seemed to possess a complete Technique 
fitted to the stage of his day. Ben Johnson was a scholar, 
acquainted with Aristotle and the old classic drama, it is 
true, but Shakspere was the supreme artist. He has re- 
duced this romantic Italian story to a definite Proposition. 
That general Proposition was: — Two young members of 
families in deadly strife fall in love. They marry; will it 
result happily and reunite the families? Shakspere, how- 
ever, had the story before him and could be more definite 
and could reduce it to individuals at once; Romeo and 
Juliet, members of the house of Montague and Capulet, in 
deadly strife, fall in love; they marry; will this marriage 
result happily and reunite the families? The third clause 
is the problem to be worked out ; but the result can be put 
as a statement. Put as a question or problem, its alterna- 
tives have to be answered with a Yes or No. They marry 



THE) PROPOSITION 5 1 

with a happy result? No. The families are reunited? 
Yes ! Put as a statement it requires a setting forth of the 
How. All this has to be worked out. We believe that 
plays are ordinarily written without a conception of the 
technical form that we give for a Proposition. To write a 
play on the general idea that it must have a beginning, a 
middle and an end, results in many successful plays and 
just as many failures. What we may call the French 
method, which undoubtedly involves the idea of a technical 
Proposition such as we give it, is a little more specific 
in that it makes a middle of a play the climax and thereby 
becomes more specific and more scientific. They write to 
and from that climax. I shall point out later on that cli- 
max used with reference to the Proposition is a dangerous 
and misleading term. But, in the hands of a dramatist who 
understands the art it answers the purpose. We be- 
lieve it, however, to be less definite and comprehensive 
than the logical formula of Proposition which we have in- 
troduced. A full understanding and acceptance of the sec- 
ond clause of the Proposition, as we frame it, is of the 
utmost importance. It represents the cause of the Action. 
Misapprehension and confusion commonly exist in the 
minds of the inexpert as to the significance of this term. 
They are apt to imagine that the cause of the Action is that 
Romeo and Juliet fall in love. Not at all. That is the be- 
ginning of the Action and belongs to the conditions of it. 
From that starting point any number of romantic or real 
happenings could ensues A play could not be made out of 
those conditions without something definite, something 
that we call the cause of the Action. To assign a mere mid- 
dle and end to a series of happenings would not necessarily 
make it a play. Even a climax in the general sense of the 
most interesting scene or situation would not help matters. 
It is because Romeo and Juliet marry, with the swift fol- 
lowing consequences that we have Action. Sooner or later 
the dramatist must determine upon the Proposition of his 
play. He may not get it at once, but a discussion of the 



$2 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

method and procuring it must be deferred. It is your 
business now to understand what a Proposition is and its 
relation to the other parts of a play. 

The play now selected for illustration is an exceedingly 
simple and effective one, "Ingomar." The Theme of the 
author's play was love. Endless plays have been and can 
yet be written on that Theme, but the general Theme is 
not definite enough for practical purposes. What kind of 
love? and so you go on narrowing it down. Arrived at 
the Proposition, whether found in a complete story with 
a dramatic Proposition or a story be devised to fit a philoso- 
phy, the play must resolve itself into a Proposition or the 
dramatist has no starting point. There must be nothing ab- 
stract about it; it must concern people. A moral Proposi- 
tion for a play may have its abstract form, but the working 
Proposition must be concrete. Your first step upon solid 
ground will be made when you assure yourself of the truth 
of this dramatic law and when you convince yourself that 
it is a universal and inevitable requirement. You will find 
it true with reference to all the plays herein and to all which 
it is now your independent task to analyze. Again I repeat 
the admonition that you make sure that you understand 
and accept the Proposition as the real starting point of the 
construction and subsequent writing of a play. Unless 
you can reduce your play to a Proposition you have no play. 
What is your play about? If you cannot answer that ques- 
tion in two lines or so, you have no play. The tendency is 
to throw a Proposition together loosely and mainly in the 
form of a question, for instance: — Will Ingomar, having 
in his possession a beautiful girl, he a barbarian, be con- 
quered by the power of love? Or take the point of view 
from Parthenia: — Will Parthenia, trusting to the mercy 
of the savages, accomplish her mission of saving her father 
by softening the heart of the Barbarian leader? One might 
stumble through a play by the aid of either of these Pro- 
positions and, by a bare possibility, the dramatist using 
either Proposition might have written this identical play, 



the: proposition 53 

but if he did succeed in writing the identical play he would 
have written something that he did not start out to write, 
for neither Proposition covers the whole play. Either af- 
fords a kind of Proposition that serves to hold a play to- 
gether in a fashion, but one should be scientific and accu- 
rate from the beginning and not trust to chance. It is 
sometimes difficult to frame a Proposition that will include 
everything in the Complete Action. Reducing the Com- 
plete Action of "INGOMAR" to its lowest terms the follow- 
ing is more of a Complete Proposition : Parthenia offers 
herself to Ingomar, chief of a tribe of barbarians, as host- 
age for her captive father; Ingomar accepts her, with a 
savage view of using her as the slave of his passions ; will 
she become his slave or subdue him to honest love and will 
he, for that reason, renounce his tribe to marry her? This 
covers the case, although it apparently begins with the 
second act. In reality the first act is a prologue. Now, in 
this Proposition are involved all sorts of subordinate things 
necessary to the Plot and the Action and there are included 
even subordinate Propositions, but it is your one main Pro- 
position to which you must make your material conform. 
The subordinate Proposition here is whether Ingomar will 
renounce his tribe for love of her. The subordinate Propo- 
sition in "Romeo and Juliet" concerns the reconciliation of 
the families. It is very common if not usual for a Propo- 
sition to have this subordinate clause, but it must be sub- 
ordinate. 

Merely with reference to the wording, the Proposition of 
a given play is susceptible of different statement, but in 
substance the Proposition would remain the same. A Pro- 
position usually, by necessity, includes the few principal 
Characters around whom the Action revolves. But there 
are many propositions in a play. Just as each act has its 
Proposition, so a Proposition may be attached to individual 
Characters. The main Proposition involves many subordi- 
nate Propositions, consequently, the danger in framing the 
main one, the one including all the others, is that we may 



54 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

select a subordinate one and thus not have a complete 
Action. At first the Proposition of "The Lady of 
Lyons" may seem to be this : Pauline, rich and proud, a 
tradesman's daughter, ambitious of marrying a title, is loved 
by Claude Melnotte, the gardener's son ; unrecognized by 
her, he personates a Prince and marries her; will her love, 
humbling her pride, cause her to forgive the deception and 
finally reunite them? Or it may be put as a statement: 
Pauline, rich and proud, ambitious of marrying a title, is 
loved by Claude Melnotte, the gardener's son; unrecog- 
nized by her, he personates a Prince and marries her; love 
conquers her pride, she forgives the deception and becomes 
his wife after separation. The one first given does not seem 
to take in the last act or provide for Melnotte's atonement, 
and rather leaves the last act as a kind of Epilogue. Let us 
see if this will not cover the whole case : Pauline, rich and 
vain, ambitious of marrying a title, is loved by Melnotte, 
a peasant ; Melnotte deceives her into marriage by pretend- 
ing to be a Prince ; will her pride be humbled by her love, 
and will he incidentally, atone for his treachery? Again, 
the author, mentally reserving all details, would have had 
a sufficient and definite Proposition in this form: Pauline 
is loved by Melnotte; he deceives her into a marriage by 
personating a Prince ; will he win her love and atone for 
his treachery? He has a working Proposition when he 
gets the three clauses, premises, Cause of Action and result. 
He may not get it all at once, and it may be subject to 
change as he proceeds, but the incidental processes are to 
be considered later. We are now concerned with what a 
Proposition is. This Proposition does not require any de- 
tail of the Action or how it is to be carried out. It is the 
Story of the play. The last clause is the problem to be 
worked out. From the Proposition the Plot is constructed. 
Thence you proceed to demonstrate, in the Action, how it 
all happened. 

In "Camille," Camille is honestly loved by Armand, 
who wishes to withdraw her from her irregular life ; she is 



THE PROPOSITION 55 

required to sacrifice herself by giving him up for his own 
good. Will she be so purified by this love as to do this, 
and will she by the merit of this purified love be finally 
united with him? 

This is a full statement of the whole case, although it 
might have a different form as to words. Whether Dumas 
derived his philosophy of the case from certain facts, or 
whether he devised or found his facts to fit his philosophy 
is immaterial. He was convinced that a woman may be 
purified by love. That was his Theme or philosophy, his 
general Proposition. But we cannot call the Theme or 
philosophy of a play its Proposition, for if we are to be 
scientific or even intelligible to ourselves or others in dis- 
cussion, our terms must have a specific meaning. We can- 
not have a definite play from an indefinite or general Propo- 
sition. Even here, the process is from the general to the 
particular. In bringing it down from the general we do not 
depart in the slightest from that general idea. Will love 
purify a woman would not answer for a Proposition of this 
play, for there is nothing specific about it; and the drama 
is specific or nothing. What woman? Under what cir- 
cumstances? Her age? Her mode of life? Her surround- 
ings? Make these and all essential things plain; place them 
in an atmosphere as clear, we may say, as that of Colorado 
where the mountain peaks a hundred miles away may be 
seen. Here we have a Proposition divided into three 
clauses. First, the premises, that is to say, the conditions 
and active facts upon which the Action is based. Second, 
we have the cause of Action, the main Cause, that upon 
which the complete Action turns. Third, what will be the 
result of this main cause of Action? The third clause con- 
tains the problem of the play. We could throw the Propo- 
tion into the form of a statement of a happening, or some- 
thing that happens, the result being known, as indeed they 
are known to the dramatist in either case. Then we would 
have to discover, for playwriting is never perfunctory, and 
result. In neither event is the problem a riddle or a matter 



56 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

of chance to the dramatist. He knows what the result will 
be before he begins to work the Proposition out. The de- 
tails of it he may have to discover. Minor details he will 
have to discover for playwriting is never perfunctory, and 
this constant discovery or invention is the charm that sus- 
tains the mettle of the writer. 

A true Proposition is inclusive of all that may be discov- 
ered and used in the play. All that is used must conform 
to the proposition. If your discoveries and material prove 
overpoweringly suggestive of another and better proposi- 
tion, then you will have to change your Proposition, for 
your play must conform to it. Sooner or later it becomes 
fixed. All the better if your original idea is the true one and 
rooted in a firm philosophy. If the original idea is not a 
strong one and if you are looking for a mere "play" such 
changes are often made. Dumas wanted to find the highest 
test of Camille's sincerity and purification. Remember that 
we are stating it from the French point of view. At any 
rate, we get the sacrifice, and in the last act we get the 
purified spirit. 

Observe that the last clause contains two problems, a 
main and a subordinate one. This is usually if not always 
the case. The two wheels seem required to balance the 
vehicle. The Action is not worked out until both are dem- 
onstrated. And the completion of both must be practically 
simultaneous. We have in the three clauses a beginning, 
a middle and an end. Now, see how much this involves. 
You get a glimpse of Action right off. It plainly is pro- 
gressive Action. It is all toward a given end. It includes 
all the facts as they are developed. Why is it not necessary 
to make mention of Varville or the father of Armand or 
any of the other characters in this Proposition? Because 
the next step is a Plot to work out this Proposition, and 
these characters belong to the Plot. They may exist, to a 
certain extent, in the mind of the dramatist when he frames 
his Proposition, but that is no reason why they should 
be mentioned in the Proposition. In point of fact, a drama- 



THE PROPOSITION 57 

tist may actually write a play with a Proposition sufficient, 
as he may think, and then be under the necessity for the 
purpose of revision, to go back and question and reframe 
his Proposition. If dramatists always did this, for surety, 
untold sums would be saved and many a play would be 
rescued from failure. Dumas first saw the absolute neces- 
sity for Varville when he began to consider Camille's sacri 
fice. How was she to convince Armand that she had aban- 
doned him? By going back to Varville. He connects it 
at once with the second clause of the Proposition. That 
made it obligatory to put Varville in the premises of the 
play, in the development of the first clause. If he belonged 
to the Proposition the chances are that he would be in the 
last act in proper person. If we attempted to put into the 
Proposition every fact in the Plot and every incidental de- 
tail, how could there be any scientific division of the func- 
tions of the parts of a play? What would be the use of 
a distinct Proposition if it was really not distinct? It is not 
a mere convenience, indispensably convenient as it is. 
A consistent Plot is essential to the working out of the 
Proposition, but there are many details in a play which are 
at least optional with reference to the Proposition. If you 
put one thing in the Proposition which did not properly 
belong to it, you had as well put everything. We can at 
once see that it was necessary to put Duval in the Proposi- 
tion, for he is implied in the sacrifice demanded. Prudence 
is implied, for Armand must be introduced to Camille by 
her. It may be said that Gustave and Nichette are not ob- 
vious. Very true. They do not even belong to the Plot. 
They belong to the Action, which is again something difffer- 
ent from the Plot. That we shall see in discussing Plot and 
Action. It is enough to see that out of this Proposition 
grew the entire play. The Proposition of this play was de- 
veloped out of the philosophy of the dramatist and his sub- 
ject. We shall find other plays in which this process is not 
so certain, and, indeed, not required in the initiative. 

Do not be disturbed at any repetition that you may dis- 



58 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

cover in these pages. It is orderly repetition and is of the 
very essence of learning and teaching. I am giving my 
labors to my students and am not primarily addressing 
myself to the casual reader. 

In "Still Water Runs Deep," Mildmay has lost authority 
in his own household because of the supremacy of Hawks- 
ley, who has designs against the purity of his wife and her 
aunt and against the family fortune; Mildmay confronts 
Hawksley with a bill forged by him, thereby preventing the 
scandal against the aunt and forcing him to return the in- 
vestments already made ; by the production of a second 
forged bill held in reserve he exposes Hawksley in the 
presence of his family and restores himself to authority. 

This is a working Proposition for it is comprehensive, 
with premises, cause of Action, and result or problem; a 
beginning, a middle and an end. The last clause may be 
made to read : Mildmay defeats Hawksley and restores 
himself to authority. 

Observe first the Unity of the Proposition. Everything 
depends upon Mildmay's exposure of Hawksley. The re- 
gaining of the confidence of the family is subordinate to 
that. Put it the other way, that Mildmay regains the confi- 
dence of his family, and thereby is enabled to expose 
Hawksley. A play might be made for such a Proposition, 
but it does not present a definite Action as to means, and 
would certainly require entirely different treatment. The 
exposure of Hawksley would be the subordinate clause in 
the problem. Again, suppose that he should defeat Hawks- 
ley with reference to his wife by showing her the design 
of Hawksley on the aunt, and then had to turn about on an 
entirely different line and convince Potter, who holds the 
purse strings, that Hawksley is a scoundrel? Then you 
would have two propositions of equal importance or that 
would require independent treatment. One part of the 
play would be finished before the other part, neither one 
or the other would be main or subordinate. There would 
be no direct relation between them except at the end of the 



the: proposition 59 

play perhaps. There would not be that continuous relation- 
ship which is necessary to the Unity of a Proposition. Go a 
little further by way of experiment and add as a Proposition, 
Can Mildmay also convert Mrs. Sternhold from a hardshell 
Baptist to a Roman Catholic? Why not? Amateurs and 
some dramatists of false reputations who, however, do not 
know the art, are constantly doing things equally absurd. 
Indeed, what we have just suggested might be introduced 
as one of the minor Propositions incidental to Action, for a 
play has many Propositions, but the Present Proposition 
of the play hardly suggests the possibility of any such 
vagary. We must confine the Proposition of the play to the 
idea that controls the play and holds it together from be- 
ginning to end. If, then, you can destroy the play by means 
of a false Proposition, you can also destroy the Proposition 
by departing from it in the course of the Action of the play. 
If, in writing a play, a change is made, a departure taken, 
then you are compelled to go back and make the Proposition 
conform to it. If you complete a play without having for- 
mulated a Proposition and then find you cannot formulate 
one, and cannot make play and Proposition consist, your 
labor is lost, for there must be a dramatic Proposition or 
there can be no play. 

A Proposition must be susceptible of being worked out; 
there must be material for it. If a Plot cannot be evolved 
from it, the Proposition is inadequate. If it is a Proposition 
for which a play of not more than one or two acts can be 
devised, it is folly to try to work it out in three or five acts. 
In "Still Waters Run Deep" there was material for three 
acts only. The play could not be padded out by introducing 
into the second clause of the Proposition a second means of 
thwarting Hawksley, such, for instance, as showing that 
he was already a bigamist. Again, in order to show the 
essential requirement of simplicity and Unity, let us assume 
that in the first clause, the premises of the Proposition, we 
had to state that Mildmay was henpecked and a candidate 
for Congress. Make him a candidate for Congress if you 



60 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

will, but you cannot put it into Proposition, for everything 
in the Proposition must be material to the Plot. A Plot 
must have Unity above all things. You cannot possibly 
have any true inspiration for a play or any justification in 
attempting it, if your idea is not large enough for a play 
in its singleness. It is a test of your own sanity, your own 
sincerity, of the genuineness of your material. It is true 
that you may not be able to formulate at once your Proposi- 
tion or exactly what your play is to be about. You may not 
at once discover the practical constituents of the Proposi- 
tion, nor at all in its clauses. Tom Taylor perhaps first 
had the idea occur to him that an interesting character 
would be a man of great firmness, veiled under a quiet 
manner, cool under all circumstances. It may have been 
suggested to him by some other character in some other 
play. Or it may have been an observation original with 
him. He had to cast about before he found the Action 
which would bring out these characteristics. He had a 
part of his Proposition the moment the idea occurred to 
him. It is immaterial whether he saw how he could defeat 
Hawksley before or after he formulated his Proposition. 
He could easily have worked it out algebraicly, confident 
that he would find the needed equivalent. But sooner or 
later he had to frame his Proposition. Observe that not all 
the characters are mentioned in the Proposition. Those 
omitted are not Proposition characters but belong to the 
Plot or the Action. 

The difficulty which an untrained writer experiences in 
reducing a play to its Proposition, its lowest terms, consists 
in the necessity of excluding from the Proposition charac- 
ters that belong to the Plot simply or to the Action simply. 
If we included the means of carrying out a Proposition we 
would infringe upon the Plot. Any mention of the thirteen 
letters held by Hawksley would make the Proposition cum- 
brous, although a working Proposition might include it. 
The dramatic mind must be able to make distinctions, 
otherwise the Proposition, the Plot and the Action would 



the: proposition 6 1 

all be the same thing to him. If Proposition means Plot, 
and Plot means Proposition and Action meant Plot, &c., 
there would be no earthly use in our establishing the terms 
at all. We must not only make a distinction between the 
principles and their use, but we must always be specific. 

Taylor might have started out with such a general 
Proposition as this : — Can a henpecked husband, a very 
much under-rated individual, rise above the state in which 
he finds himself and attain his rightful position at the head 
of the family? One might indeed begin with a very general 
Proposition, gradually making it more specific until he 
gets what he wants. In this play there had to be a particu- 
lar husband and particular existing circumstances which had 
to be overcome in order that the goal aimed at might be 
reached. 

The Proposition of "A New Way to Pay Old 
Debts" is not easy to define, for it has an unusual num- 
ber of under-plots, and the dominating and overwhelming 
masterfulness of Sir Giles would seem to absolutely de- 
mand that we frame our Proposition with reference to the 
chief character of the play and from our point of view of 
that character. Massinger's first idea, for the strongest, 
and he drew his picture from life, was Overreach. He 
wanted to mete out punishment to him. He would cause 
him to make restitution of lands fraudulently obtained 
and have his one social ambition, to be efTected by the sac- 
rifice of his daughter, defeated. The dramatist's interest 
was not aroused by Wellborn. The interest of the audience 
now does not center in the spendthrift. If Massinger had 
wanted that he would have given him a love affair. Mas- 
singer had to accomplish the ruin of Sir Giles by a com- 
bination of circumstances, with Wellborn as the starting 
point, so that the Proposition from which a Plot and 
Action may grow seems to depend upon Wellborn. The 
simplest Proposition, the most comprehensive, may seem 
at first to be something like this: Wellborn, robbed of 
his estates by Sir Giles, determines to retrieve himself; he 



62 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

gets Lady Allworth to pretend that she will marry him ; 
will Sir Giles then set him up in the world again? That 
is good enough, comprehensive enough, as far as it goes. 
Sir Giles does furnish him the money with which to pay 
off his debts, but that does not cover the last act. It was 
never a problem whether Wellborn could get Sir Giles 
to restore his entire property. The two great problems in 
the play are whether Sir Giles will be duped or made to 
overreach himself or not, both with reference to his 
schemes of plundering Wellborn and the marriage of his 
daughter to Lord Lovell instead of to her rightful lover 
Allworth. The first point is held in solution to the death 
of Sir Giles, but there is hardly any doubt at any time, 
in the mind of the audience, as to the intentions of Lord 
Lovell. We know that Margaret will not be wed to him. 
If we put the problem so that it makes Sir Giles ambi- 
tious for a rich marriage for Margaret, then that part of 
it is kept in solution to the end. Let us look for that prob- 
lem again. Sir Giles is to overreach himself in what? 
In supplying Wellborn with money? That does not com- 
plete the Action. He overreaches himself in thinking that 
he can, by some trick, get the estate of Lady Allworth if 
she is married to Wellborn. But he is really defeated by 
the betrayal of Marrall, whom he has treated brutally, 
thereby overreaching himfself. He is overreached by every- 
body. We must look for the Proposition in the solution 
of the Action, in the denouement and ending of the play. 
Massinger wanted to have Sir Giles overreach himself, 
and there might be a continued hope and expectation that 
he would do so throughout the Action, but we know that 
he will never have any chance to rob his nephew of prop- 
erty when he shall have married Lady Allworth, for that 
event will never take place. The question would always 
remain, Will he be duped, not what he will be able to do. 
It would, then, seem impossible to secure an all-embracing 
Proposition from either the standpoint of Wellborn or of Sir 
Giles. A Proposition that seems to cover the case, with a 



THE PROPOSITION" 63 

beginning, a middle and an end, seems to be something 
like this: Wellborn has been robbed of his patrimony by 
Sir Giles, and his friend Allworth, in love with Sir Giles's 
daughter, Margaret, is prevented from marrying her by 
being kept from her; Wellborn gets Lady Allworth to 
pretend that she will m/arry him, and Allworth gets Lord 
Lovell to pretend to sue for Margaret; will Sir Giles be 
duped into rehabilitating Wellborn and giving Allworth 
an opportunity to marry his daughter? This would be a 
working Proposition and would be perfectly clear to one 
familiar with the Material and the purposes. The premises 
seem to be lacking as to the character of Sir Giles with 
reference to the specific plan to rob his nephew again and 
as to his intense social ambition, but are they not implied? 
The problem as to whether Wellborn would secure money 
from his uncle is answered, and although it goes beyond 
that point to the production of the razed deed, that is an 
unexpected and needed turn in the Plot Action. This play 
is unusually complex and difficult to reduce to a brief Pro- 
position. I shall return to it again. In the meanwhile 
you may essay its formulation by way of bettering mine. 



CHAPTER VIII. 



THE PLOT. 

The Plot is that combination of happenings which dem- 
onstrates or solves the Proposition. 

For the present, we are studying what may be called 
the physiology and anatomy of a play; consequently we 
are excluding certain things which really belong to a full 
understanding of each principle taken up ; but which would 
only lead to confusion ; one thing at a timfe. For example, 
while the Scenario embraces our Plot, and while you must 
have a Plot before you can determine on all the details 
of the scenes, or rather what scenes to have, the Scenario 
goes a little further than the bare Plot, just as Plot and 
Scenario, include Action, which is to be considered in its 
order. All of them, again, include Unity which is to be 
considered in its turn. What you have learned so far is 
that these divisions must first be made before the actual 
writing is begun and that object and Proposition are the 
characteristics of this coming from the general to the 
particular, getting closer and closer to detail. The Sce- 
nario is the arrangement of the play into Scenes. The 
Proposition may be given as a problem or as a Story, that 
is to say, as a logical statement. The Plot is the way in 
which you carry out that statement of Story, or solve that 
Story or problem. There is no absolute need for us to go 
into a detailed exposition of all this now; for the present 
purpose it is enough to have you examine the plays and 
see for yourself the universal application of the method 
of obtaining one part of the structure at a time. When 
we get to the Constructive part of the work we will have 
to put it into practice. Simply note the progressive steps 
and the specific nature of each component part of the play. 
You will observe as you proceed, that each act has its 



the plot 65 

Plot, as well as the play, and that each scene in which any- 
thing is at issue has its Plot and is a little play in itself. 

The Plot — that which works out your play — is the ar- 
rangement of the important happenings — which are the 
larger wheels. A play being an arrangement of wheels 
within wheels; the Proposition being the balance wheel, 
the Acts the hour wheels, the scenes the minute wheels, the 
incidents in the scenes — and all the smaller turns — the sec- 
ond wheels, so to speak. The general Plot, then, of the 
play is implied in the main Proposition, but not stated 
explicitly. It has to be worked out. The analytic work is 
the considering of plays that are already complete, from 
which we can see what a Plot is after a play is completed, 
but it is the Plot which the author fixes before he begins to 
write and which we read fully developed after the play 
is finished. It comes back to the same thing. It existed 
before he wrote the play just as it exists after. If a mana- 
ger asks you for the Plot of your play it should not take 
you an hour or so to tell it; as a practical matter, he has 
not the time to spare, and you can tell the Plot in a com- 
paratively few minutes and give him all the essential turns 
of the main Action, that is, of the Plot. This is substan- 
tially the Plot of "Ingomar," stripped of anything like a 
formal Division into Acts, that Division into Acts being a 
distinct process and part of the structural work to be un- 
dertaken by the dramatist : Parthenia is a daughter of a 
poor armorer in Massilia; overburdened with debt. She 
is at the fulness of her beauty and youth, and her heart has 
never known love; her mother tells her that she must 
marry and proposes Polydor, an aged miser, whose money 
would bring comfort to the family; Parthenia refuses her 
mother, but on reflection considers it her duty to sacrifice 
herself, to sell herself — but she says to herself that she 
will make the price and conditions high. Polydor presents 
his suit, but she is disgusted with his sordidness and 
spurns him ; he swears revenge. 
5 



66 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

News is brought that her father has been captured and 
held by the barbarians without the city walls for ransom ; 
she appeals to the neighbors for the money, but none can 
or will help her ; the Timarch refuses ; she begs Polydor, 
but he spurns her in return, and she determines to go her- 
self to the barbarians and offer herself as hostage. (The 
problem of the first act was how to get her into the hands 
of the barbarians ; you will note how it is worked out. It 
required a lot of detail, of cause and effect, but you will ob- 
serve that it is not necessary to relate all these details and 
tell the whole play to a mjanager in order to give him a 
completely intelligible account of the play, and when you 
have your Plot to start with it is not necessary to have 
all the details in your mind — just as you are being taught, 
so does the author proceed about his work — one part of 
the process at a time). Parthenia offers herself to the 
Barbarians as hostage for Myron, her father, and is accept- 
ed by Ingomar, the leader; and Myron returns to raise the 
ransom. Left alone with Ingomar Parthenia proves her 
independence and purity of mind, and talks to him artlessly 
of love, and begins to win his heart and protection. (You 
will observe that the details of the Action are not stated 
here; it is enough that the general Action progress is 
sufficiently indicated ; that you do not do the entire work 
all at once — something is always left, as, for example, the 
scenes work out the problem indicated. How Parthenia 
wins Ingomar's heart is left to be worked out by the scene 
of the cup and the telling of love as told to her by her 
mother, and in the making of your play something is left 
for invention; you have WHAT you want, and devise in 
the scenes the HOW). The barbarians decide to dispose 
of Parthenia by sale or by lot among themselves; Ingomar 
himself would enjoy her after this fashion also, but in a 
fine scene, she abashes himj and makes him love her all the 
more. He saves her from the other barbarians, and gets 
her for his own portion, will free her and conduct her 
safely, the ransom cancelled, to Massilia. It is seen in 



THE PLOT 67 

the city that the citizens have been unable to raise the 
ransom. A fine scene when Ingomar having conducted her 
safely — the ransom cancelled — to the gates, is about to 
leave her; but he returns to her, is willing to renounce 
his tribe for love of her, and will go to Massilia itself with 
her. The barbarians approach the city and Ingomar is 
suspected of being a spy. In the meanwhile Polydor is 
still seeking to ruin Myron, Parthenia's father, by buying 
up all his debts. The parents still oppose the match. The 
Timarch makes a proposition to Ingomar relating to trap- 
ping his old companions which Ingomar refuses and is 
about to depart ; Parthenia will go with him ; barbarians 
make terms; Polydor thwarted; the lovers reunited, and 
Ingomar is made a Timarch. 

The Plot of "The Lady of Lyons," like that of "Ingo- 
mar," is compact and simple. Each can be reduced to 
fewer lines than have been devoted to them. An author's 
working Plot would be expressed in a kind of shorthand, 
in so far as the use of words is concerned. An excellent 
method of familiarizing yourself with the nature and char- 
acteristics of Plot would be to become familiar with a num- 
ber of Plots, simple and perfect Plots, susceptible of brief 
statement, and be able to give them with entire accuracy 
at a moment's demand. If you were not familiar with the 
scientific restrictions of Plot you would soon find yourself 
rambling and entering into innumerable details in attempt- 
ing to state the Plot of any play. To master the Plot of 
a play so as to retain it in the mind and give it briefly 
is not a feat of the memory, but a natural process follow- 
ing out the Cause and Effect of the Action. If fifty ex- 
perts should detail the Plot of a given play already written, 
those Plots should be substantially identical. Fifty people 
not acquainted with the art might attempt to give this 
Plot, and each Plot would fall short of a true scientific Plot, 
each differing in their superfluities or omissions from the 
other. It would be impossible without bringing confusion 
into the instruction to dwell upon all the characteristics 



68 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) 

of Plot and those principles which govern or influence 
the management of all parts of a play as well as the Plot 
itself. It has been necessary to use certain terms, and ref- 
erences to principles which you are to learn by degrees. A 
number of them involve Plot in a most specific way. You 
will have to read these pages through once and then return 
to them often enough to assure yourself that you under- 
stand the discussion of each principle. The Plot is the de- 
velopment or demonstration of the Proposition and we 
deduce it fromj the Proposition. In "The Lady of Lyons", 
for instance, how was it possible for Melnotte to personate 
a Prince successfully? What kind of Prince was he? How 
did his opportunity come? Why did she forgive the de- 
ception? Without attempting to follow all the mental 
processes in devising the means of solving the Proposition, 
it is enough now to see that there is a Proposition and 
what the Plot is. The Plot here given is the Plot without 
reference to the details of the Action, the Action proper 
being a distinct thing. Observe that everything is given 
in the order of the happenings. It is the author's working 
model with reference to the reserved knowledge in his 
own mind. It is as follows : Pauline, rich and proud, 
ambitious of marrying rank, is sought after by many suit- 
ors; she rejects Beauseant, himself rich and proud, but 
not of sufficient or secure rank, humbling and enraging 
him ; Beauseant meets with Glavis, also a rejected suitor, 
and they plan revenge to humble her. At an inn they 
hear shouts, cheering a Prince; the landlord explains that 
one Claude Melnotte is so called by the villagers by reason 
of his accomplishments and manners. They determine to 
niake a pseudo-prince of him and introduce him to Pauline. 
At his humble home Claude is told by the messenger that 
his message to Pauline was spurned and that he was beaten 
when it was learned that the sender was the gardener's 
son ; he is ripe for revenge. He receives a note at this mo- 
ment from Beauseant and is willing to adopt the scheme. 
Beauseant succeeds in enforcing Claude's oath to marry 



THE PLOT 69 

her and take her to the inn, where all pomp and pretenses 
should vanish. Damas suspected and tests his Italian. 
When Claude wishes to retire from his bargain, Beauseant 
reminds him of this suspicion and the danger he is in if 
the Directory finds him out. Claude disarms Damas in a 
duel and gains his friendship ; Beauseant produces a letter 
telling him of the danger he is in from the Directory and 
immediate marriage is agreed upon. The marriage takes 
place, as we see when Claude brings his bride to the inn, 
and, on pretext of the carriage breaking down, he takes 
her to his mother's cottage. Pauline discovers the truth, 
and he tells her his story, which touches her, and she 
ceases to hate him but feels the deep wrong; he will see 
to her release by law and sends her to rest in care of his 
mother. The kindness of the widow affects Pauline and 
we see that she begins to love Claude, and she sees from 
the portrait painted by him that he was truthful and sin- 
cere. Beauseant finds entrance and would take advantage 
of her humiliation to renew his suit; she resists, and Claude 
returning rescues her from his embrace ; her parents come ; 
Claude gives papers empowering divorce ; she would re- 
main but Claude will go to the wars and redeem himself; 
the opportunity coming in the offer of Damas, now his 
friend. Claude, under the name of Morier, having won 
wealth and fame, returns from the wars ; Damas has been 
his friend throughout, and now learns that Pauline is about 
to marry Beauseant, her father's bankruptcy forcing it. 
While they believe Pauline is false to Claude, Damas urges 
hope. The marriage contract is about to be signed. Pau- 
line begs Beauseant to pay the debt and yet release her. 
He refuses. In a talk with her, Claude, concealing his face, 
introduced as Morier, is convinced of her love, throws 
aside his disguise, offers the money that releases her father 
and the two are reunited. 

This is the Plot of "Camille," (as a development of the 
Proposition) as it may be stated in order to be intelligible 
to one who knew nothing of the play: 



JO ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Camille, a woman of irregular life, loves none of her 
suitors ; Armjand Duval, a young man of good family, who 
has loved her passionately for two years, without disclos- 
ing himself, is introduced by Prudence, one of her set; 
she begins to like him at once because he is different from 
those who surround her; he declares his passion and 
wishes to withdraw her from her present life and share 
with her a pure love ; she is unwilling to grant this demand, 
but she sees that she is loved as never before. She pre- 
pares to retire to the country with him, and procures 
money for the purpose from an old friend, a protector, the 
Duke de Meuriac; she will accept Armand's plans, feeling 
that she loves and is loved. Armand makes the condition 
that she break off all other relations; she is not advanced 
to that understanding of Armand's views, and evades the 
question. Varville, a suitor who is rich and offers to pay 
her debts, enters after Armand's departure ; Armand is 
jealous, having seen Varville enter, and writes that he 
will quit Paris; Camille is in a fever of anxiety; she sends 
Varville away, and receives Armand; she yields fully to 
Armand's demjands, and commits herself without reserve 
by tearing up a letter which comes from Varville. She 
provides funds for retirement to the country cottage by 
arranging to sell her diamonds and effects, and Armand 
prepares to sell an estate derived from his mother. During 
his absence Duval, his father, appears and demands of 
Camille that she abandon Armand, saying to her that she 
is ruining him, urging that Armand has a sister whose en- 
gagement of marriage will be broken off if she does not 
immediately and finally discontinue her relations with 
Armand. Seeing the impossibility of happiness for herself, 
she sacrifices her love, and in order to convince Armand 
that she means to abandon him, she writes him a note say- 
ing that she has gone back to Varville. Heartbroken, but 
attributing her act to the influence of Varville, he seeks 
a quarrel with him; at a ball he publicly insults Camille 
by showering her with money, so that Varville must fight 



THE PLOT 71 

the duel with him. Camille keeps her secret of sacrifice. 
Deserted by both Varville and Armand she is dying. Duval 
reveals to his son the truth, and Armand returns to her 
as she is dying, forgiving and forgiven, united for a mo- 
ment to be parted by death. 

This statement does not imply that it is the only one that 
can be made, word for word, of the Plot. Observe that 
only a limited number of the characters are named. You 
will also note that many incidents are not given, the sup- 
per scene, which is in the nature of an Episode, the little 
ministrations to Camille in her last hours, the scene be- 
tween Camille and her friends Gustave and Nichette in the 
third act, for example. The reason is that the Characters 
and the incidents not included in the statement of the Plot 
belong to the Action. They are elements that serve to 
work out the Plot. Of course, the Plot itself has Action, 
but what we choose to specifically call Action, that of the 
moment, includes the Action of the Plot. The Plot gives 
only the larger totals; the Action being the itemized ac- 
count of these various totals. The author's Plot might be 
still more brief: 

Camille meets Armand, is impressed with his passionate 
declaration of love, but will not give up her life to be with 
him, for she doubts the happiness of such a course, but 
her love prevails ; she will take a cottage in the country 
with him, using the money of others; he refuses on these 
conditions ; she throws over Varville, a rich lover, and 
agrees to his conditions; the father interrupts their happi- 
ness by demanding that she sacrifice herself to save his 
son from! ruin ; she writes a letter to Armand saying that 
she has abandoned him for Varville ; Armand seeking a 
duel with Varville, whom he holds responsible, publicly 
insults Camille ; Camille is abandoned by both ; she is 
dying; the father reveals to Armand Camille's sacrifice, 
and he returns forgiving and forgiven, as she dies. 

You will observe that it covers the larger Action, and is 
substantially the same as the longer Plot, only omitting 



J2. ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

certain details. A brief Plot of this kind is possible to the 
author because he holds in mind all the conditions and 
qualifying things. They are in his notes, his Material 
and his Conditions Precedent. For that matter, many of 
the details of the Action may not exist before he finds 
this Plot; but sooner or later he discovers the ways and 
means of carrying out the Plot. Until he gets this Plot, 
susceptible of this short statement, he has no play. 

This play is largely psychological, a conflict of emo- 
tions; internal rather than external, consequently, the 
Cause and Effect of it all is more than usually subtle, con- 
taining many shades of feeling and motive. Now, Cause 
and Effect is the distinguishing mark of a Plot. Without 
it there can be no Plot. The moment a link is lost it be- 
comes to that extent Story. Camille loves no one because 
she has been disappointed in her social ambitions and has 
been denied the possibilities of true love ; she has a lovable 
nature and is loved because of it by Armand; introduced 
to him, she recognizes his sincerity, but does not accept 
them because of the hopelessness of it all ; she yields to his 
proposal to retire to the country with him because of the 
love which now overpowers her; she refuses to carry out 
the arrangement because she has not given up her other 
relations; she throws over Varville because she under- 
stands him better and her love is being purified ; Duval de- 
mands that she sacrifice herself because it will save his 
son, and she consents for that reason; but she cannot con- 
vince Armand that she no longer loves him in abandoning 
him, and because of that she writes a letter renouncing him 
as she goes to Varville ; because Armand thinks Varville is 
responsible he seeks a duel with him, and insults her pub- 
licly because that will force the duel; because of this duel 
she is abandoned by both Varville and Armand; because 
she keeps her secret of sacrifice Armand does not return 
to her; and because of her suffering she is dying; and be- 
cause Armand's father reveals to him the truth he returns 
to Camille; and because she has been purified by love and 



THE PLOT 73 

his love has been constant they are reunited in spirit as she 
dies in his arms on his return. Just as we have followed 
the course of the Plot from Cause to Effect, we can run it 
backward by means of Cause and Effect. It is this law 
which enables one often to establish effects before ascer- 
taining in details the causes. It is that process of thinking 
backward that every dramatist must acquire. In point of 
fact, the process of discovering the Action is largely of this 
nature. Indeed, if this were not so we could not write 
plays unless they had already happened in life. Invention 
would die, or we should have to rely upon the inferior inven- 
tion of the mere story teller, whereby it would be a mere 
chance whether the story would be dramatic or not, a thing 
of Cause and Effect. 

Need we again call attention to the fact that the Plot is 
a development of the Proposition? The Proposition of 
"Camille" will be found included in either of the Plots 
given. 

Given with some fulness the Plot of "Still Waters Run 
Deep" is substantially this : Mildmlay, a man of mild man- 
ners, has lost his authority in his own household because 
Hawksley has infatuated his wife's aunt and his father-in- 
law, with the design to corrupt the wife and to secure 
through the aunt money for worthless stocks; in order to 
defeat Hawksley, Mildmay must remain silent until he pro- 
cures proof of the criminal career of Hawksley. Mrs. 
Sternhold, the aunt, is about to persuade Potter, the fath- 
er-in-law, to invest the desired sum, when her suspicions 
are aroused as to Hawksley's relations with Mrs. Mildmay 
by doubts expressed by Potter; she hides and overhears 
Hawksley trying to force an appointment at night with 
Mrs. Mildmay; in her jealousy and rage she declares for 
revenge and that the investment shall not be made ; Hawk- 
sley forces her to keep silent and let the investment be 
made by Potter, who holds the money, inasmuch as he, 
Hawksley, holds compromising letters from her; this fact 
and the state of affairs are overheard by Mildmay; but he 



74 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

cannot mtove until he has the proof in his hands of the 
criminal career of Hawksley, but feeling secure in his 
plans, Mildmay unexpectedly urges the investment and 
assumes all responsibilities. In an interview with Hawk- 
sley, Mildmay produces a forged bill from Hawksley, and 
in exchange for it obtains Mrs. Sternhold's compromising 
letters and cash for the bonds already sold to Potter. 
Hawksley, not recognizing his defeat, intends to regain 
his ground by humiliating Mildmay at dinner at Mildmay's 
home the next day, and offers on that occasion a duel, but 
his cowardice is exposed by Mildmay's acceptance and 
Hawksley's refusal to fight with one pistol unloaded and 
chosen by chance ; Hawksley is finally defeated by the in- 
troduction of a second forged bill by an officer, is hand- 
cuffed and taken away; the family recognize Mildmay's 
authority and worth. 

This play has so many conditions Precedent, so much 
that is in the air and in the nature of story, and is so much 
a play of character and dwells so much on conditions, that 
the comjplications are in the Action in general rather than 
in Plot. Many things happen, but the Plot Action is sim- 
ple enough : Mildmay is helpless until he secures proof of 
the criminality of Hawksley ; Hawksley is confident of vic- 
tory until Mildmay produces the forged bill and forces 
Hawksley to return the compromising letters which gave 
him power over the fortunes of the family; Mildmay hav- 
ing to produce a second forged bill, which Hawksley 
thinks Mildmay knows nothing of, in order to complete 
the defeat of Hawksley and to restore himself to the 
affection and confidence of his family. 

We have shown that a Plot can be put in few words, and 
that if you go beyond a certain point your statement of 
the Plot is something else, including an account of the 
Action, which has a distinction of its own from the Plot. 
The Plot is composed of the decisive happenings, and re- 
quires inevitably a series of direct Causes and Effects. 
Let us assume that we are familiar with all the Conditions 



THE PLOT 75 

Precedent and all the characters, and that the Proposition 
has been fixed. We put ourselves in the position of Mas- 
singer. We do not need to state, for our own information, 
the innumerable details. Massinger was secure of his play, 
"A New Way to Pay Old Debts," when he procured his 
Plot which is substantially as follows: In order to dupe 
his uncle and rehabilitate himself, Wellborn gets Lady All- 
worth to consent to pretend that she favors him as a suitor ; 
Sir Giles is duped into the belief that Wellborn and Lady 
Allworth will marry, and gives Wellborn the money to 
re-establish himself with. Allworth gets Lord Lovell to 
carry on his suit for the hand of Margaret, who loves him ; 
Sir Giles is duped and gives orders to the curate which 
enables the two to marry, not knowing that he is defeat- 
ing himself; in the denouement, Marrall, who has been 
beaten and mistreated by Sir Giles, produces, in a spirit 
of revenge, the deed which has robbed Wellborn of his 
property, having erased the writing; Sir Giles finding him- 
self balked in his schemes both for money and for the 
social advancement of his daughter, dies in an excess of 
mad rage. This takes no account of the subordinate char- 
acters, and does not specify the means by which the details 
of the plot are to be carried out in the Plot itself, but it 
presents a definite, complete Action, with a beginning, a 
middle and an end. It conforms to the Proposition. It 
makes no mention of minor characters belonging rather 
to the Action than to the Plot. That Lord Lovell and 
Lady Allworth marry is not in the Proposition and is 
merely Action incidental to the Plot. They do not have 
to marry to carry out either Proposition or the main Plot. 
Marrall's trick with the deed is an extension of the idea of 
duping Sir Giles and may fairly be called a part of the Plot. 
Justice Greedy belongs almost entirely to the Action, not 
that of the Plot, but of the detailed movements under the 
Plot. What we have given was the Author's Plot, at least 
the outline which assured him that he had a play. We might 
amplify this and go into what happens, and thus secure 



j6 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

a more developed plot, the elaborate pattern from which he 
worked, which would still not be exactly a Scenario, for a 
Scenario involves detail, technical and otherwise, not of 
the Plot proper: Wellborn, ruined by Sir Giles, reduced 
to such tattered want, so low in habits and fortune, that 
he is turned from the alehouse, determines to redeem him- 
self. His friend Allworth offers to assist him, but he will 
redeem himself in his own way; he advises Allworth to 
give up his love for Sir Giles's daughter, for she will be 
permitted only to marry for higher social position. This 
is the foundation of the Plot ; it gives merely a glimpse of 
what may grow out of the condition of affairs. It gives 
things by way of visible Action leading to the Plot. The 
treatment of Wellborn by the servants and the advice of 
Lady Allworth to Tom, which makes him refuse to have 
anything to do with Wellborn when he presents him- 
self, belong more to the Action than to the Plot. It is 
incidentally a part of the Plot, but not absolutely essential 
to the Plot. They are movements of the second hand, not 
the minute hand. Certainly they are a part of the move- 
ment, but you cannot see any definite Plot movement in 
the scene of the servants. As soon as Wellborn presents 
himself there is an obvious movement. He will see her, as 
he does see her; she consents, Plot. Wellborn persuades 
Marrall to accompany him to dinner at Lady Allworth's; 
he consents; he goes; he sees and is convinced and duped, 
Plot. Marrall tells his "fairy story" to Sir Giles and is 
beaten for it, and being disposed to betray Sir Giles by 
way of revenge and to go over into the service of Wellborn, 
we have Plot again. Sir Giles furnishes the money to pay 
off Wellborn's debts, Plot. But it is not Plot that Well- 
born punishes Tapwell and Froth. The Plot gets thick to- 
ward the end, for all the causes reaching far back into the 
previous Action begin to count. The details of the Plot 
become a part of it. The ring, the letter, the mistake in be- 
lieving that Wellborn and Lady Allworth are already mar- 
ried, the demanding of repayment, the production of the 



THE PLOT 77 

razed deed, all Action, are fairly of the Plot. It is of the 
Plot when Lord Lovell and Margaret come to an under- 
standing, and when Sir Giles is thereby duped. The comic 
interruptions of Greedy are not of the Plot. Don't you 
see how many things are excluded from the Author's Plot? 
How could he think of all if he did not think in terms of 
Plot first? He must first get at what series of happenings 
will carry out his Proposition, and then only proceed to 
the details by means of which the Plot itself may be carried 
out, introducing whatever Episode or character as may be 
permitted or called for by the circumstances of the Action. 



CHAPTER IX. 



THE DIVISION INTO ACTS. 

The Division into Acts is primarily a Division of the 
Plot or Plot Action into Periods of Progression. 

How is this Division accomplished? By assigning to 
each act its object, which may be given in a word or a 
line. How can that word or line be a Division of your 
material in any scientific sense? You could not indicate 
your material in a word to save your life. Of course as 
we progress by this scientific method Material is involved, 
but if we work scientifically what difference does it make 
whether we indicate if we make this Division into 
Acts of a play which has already been written, or of a play 
for which practically all the Material has been collected, 
or, on the other hand, very little collected. Riddle me this 
riddle. It may seem paradoxical and utterly without rea- 
son, but if you will contain yourself in patience you may 
see within the next few chapters the truth of it, or you 
m|ay never understand it. I shall at least labor to make it 
clear to you. A Proposition is an absolute necessity and 
it has its niceties and requirements based on science. You 
must convince yourself that it is a law of universal appli- 
cation. Just as we have said that the Material must be 
reduced to a Proposition before the dramatist's mind can 
operate in the construction of a play and a use of his Ma- 
terial, and that he can have no play unless he can state 
what it is about in a few words, in the same way we beg 
you to believe that the Division into Acts is based on the 
same scientific principle of reducing the object of each act 
of a single word or line. We reduce from the general to 
the particular all the time, becoming more and more 
definite all the time, enlarging all our statements all 
the time. We have seen what a play is about, in 
Proposition and Plot and we are now to see what it is 



THE DIVISION INTO ACTS 79 

about in each act. Any one in attempting to write a play, 
unless he is without the artistic sense, necessarily formu- 
lates what he knows or thinks he knows about the art and 
naturally lays out his Material into Acts. To the unin- 
formed this method is one of those obvious requirements 
that anyone can see. It is an external thing. It is primi- 
tive and a matter of course, but if applied without real 
knowledge the result may be absolutely absurd. Does the 
beginner always know exactly what an act is? It would 
be well to now read the chapter in "The Technique of the 
Drama" on the Division into Acts. The older Technique 
(which the beginner uses or which he deduces from his 
pwn external observation of plays) is misleading in its 
insistence on climax. We shall discuss this matter in an- 
other section of our studies. It is enough now that we ac- 
cept what is commonly called climax at the end as a 
definite point in the progression of the Action. Each act 
must have an object or Proposition and carry it out. Each 
act must accomplish that develoyment of your story which 
is assigned to it. At the end of each act you have reached 
a predetermined stage of the journey. The following Di- 
vision into Acts of "Ingomar" performs its function in in- 
dicating the progressive main Action of the play: 

ACT FIRST. 

Parthenia starts on her mission of rescuing her father 
by offering herself as hostage. How to get her started 
on that mission you may not know in detail at this point 
in your work. The end of the act coincides with the object. 

Parthenia. 
"The Gods are with us, 
So, Farewell. 

Theano. 
Parthenia, hear me. 

Parthenia. 
Away, away! (rushes off as curtain falls.)" 



80 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ACT SECOND. 
Parthenia is captive in the camp of the barbarians, and 
begins to win the heart of the leader, Ingomar. The clos- 
ing lines indicate that: — 

Ingomar (after a pause ; in deep abstraction.) 
"Two souls with a single thought, 
Two hearts that beat as one." 
ACT THIRD. 
Ingomar releases her, and will accompany her on her 
perilous journey for her protection. Your problem was to 
bring that about; each act having its problem. 

Parthenia. 
"Forward, the guide before. I will follow thee, my 
friend, protector." 

ACT FOURTH. 
Ingomar will follow further still, be a slave for her sake. 

ACT FIFTH. 
She would return with him, for his sake, to his life, but 
he is made Timarch, and their happiness and union is com- 
plete. 

In the construction of your play you must know 
before you put the Divisions down what you want, in a 
general way, and how you are going to work out your 
objects and problems, but we are now showing you the 
process of reducing a well constructed, complete published 
play to its Divisions. If these Divisions can be found in 
every successful play, is it your opinion that they exist in 
those plays by accident or by design? 

The slightest examination will make it obvious to you 
that "The Lady of Lyons" is divided into Acts with refer- 
ence to its Plot. It is not a Division of the Material into 
Acts, for the Plot had to be found before there was any- 
thing to divide into what could properly be called Acts. 
Each Act carries the Action forward to a certain point 
with reference to the Plot as governed by the Proposition. 
Thus, the first act advances the Action to the point where 



THE DIVISION INTO ACTS 8l 

Beauseant resolves on and plans revenge. The last six 
words in the preceding sentence constitute a statement of 
the object of the act. When the end of the act is reached the 
object of it has been accomplished. That part of the play 
is finished when dialogued. That part of the Plot has been 
worked out. It has been worked out by the use of all the 
principles, but not all the principles were called upon by 
the author in the mere mechanism, but after getting his 
Proposition and his Plot, and staking off his Divisions, 
with an object assigned to each act he had to work out 
the Plot of that act and all the details of the Action. 
Your study of the Division into Acts must be directed to 
ascertaining the object of each act, why it had and why it 
had not that object and why that object was assigned to it. 
Your analysis of a play furnishes you with the object of 
an act, and by the abundant use of analysis you are training 
your mind to the proper method of work. You are learn- 
ing the art gradually and almost unconsciously. At the 
end of act second Melnotte has succeeded in his deception 
and has gained Pauline's love; the marriage is at hand. 
Bulwer might have fixed upon this as the object of the 
second act, in his Division of the Plot, without knowing 
himself the details that he would have to supply. The 
success of Beauseant's Plot might be given as the object 
of this act, but it is better stated above. The third act has 
for its object to bring the Action up to the point where 
Pauline discovers the deception and Melnotte in his shame 
and repentance offers to release her and atone for the de- 
ception. Act fourth brings the Action up to his surrender 
of her, her growing love for him and his departure for the 
war to redeem himself. In Act Fifth Melnotte rescues 
Pauline from marrying Beauseant by paying the debts of 
her father upon becoming convinced of her constant love. 
You will observe that the bare statement of the objects of 
the Acts indicates a constant progress and development, 
with a beginning a middle and an end and includes Pro- 
position and Plot. In analyzing plays with reference to the 
6 



82 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Division into Acts you are asked simply to describe in a 
few words the object of each act. 

We have said that the Division into Acts is a division 
of Plot, but this does not mean that technique puts a 
restriction upon the operations of the mind, nor does 
it mean that science is to be disregarded and that 
we are not to be technical. The dramatist before getting 
his real Plot may see certain Divisions in his Material. 
That is a simple matter. In "Camille" Dumas saw his 
beginning in bringing the lovers, Armand and Camille, 
together; the end he had already decided on. Or let us 
say that he had his middle, the sacrifice, as his central 
idea. The other two natural points of Division were at 
hand without further thought, the details being left for 
future consideration. ^ The second act became an exten- 
sion of the first and the fourth and fifth acts fell readily 
into place with the three natural Division. Additional acts 
may be an after-thought. Abundance of material may 
have required it in this case or a technical reason may have 
demanded it. In a way the play could do without the 
fourth act. Do not for a moment imagine that it could be 
as effective without it. The object of each act in this play 
could be put in many ways and be substantially the same. 
In the complete mastery of his subject and Material Du- 
mas could have put it : First act, he loves ; second act, she 
loves also ; third act, she renounces him in sacrifice ; fourth 
act, she proves her sincerity; fifth act, her expiation and 
redemption are completed. These are the main general 
ideas that belong to the acts, and they indicate the progress 
of the complete Action. The description could be more 
definite as to actual happenings: i. Armand convinces 
Camiille of the sincerity of his love and purposes; 2. Ca- 
mille, after a struggle, comes to his point of view, renounces 
sordidness and chooses between him and Varville ; 3. She 
is forced by Armand's father for the sake of the happiness 
of Armand to renounce him; 4. This sacrifice is followed 
by the further sacrifice of everything, of both lovers; 5. 



THE DIVISION INTO ACTS 83 

Purified by her sacrifice, she is rewarded with a reunion 
with Armand as she dies. This Division into acts is one 
of the first things that a dramatist does as soon as he can, 
in order to begin the handling of his Material. It is en- 
tirely probable that Dumas made his Division into Acts 
very early. He then readily referred certain things in his 
Material to the act to which it belonged. After this general 
Division has been made the Material begins to fall into 
order, much of it having been determined upon without 
the slightest reference to any particular act. Obviously 
the supper scene fell to the first act. Naturally the Episode 
at the beginning of the third act with Gustave and Nichette 
at once found its place. Thus each act gathered its proper 
Material as a magnet. Order came out of disorder ; gradu- 
ally a place was found for everything. Some things can be 
used anywhere. Character, for example, is something that 
in itself must exist throughout, although some of its mani- 
festations and some of the incidents belonging to it can 
only be used at the demand of the Action. 

In the case of "Still Waters Run Deep," apart from 
the general idea suggested in the title, the middle 
of the play was the most prominent landmark of the dram- 
atist at the outset. There was a situation. It had to be. 
There was no hesitation about this Division. The situa- 
tion had to be reached by a first act, and a third act was 
needed to show what came of it. The Proposition involved 
the defeat of Hawksley on two points, his financial swin- 
dle and his intrigue against Mildmay's domestic peace. The 
second act goes far to dispose of Hawksley, but to end it 
there would not satisfy the Proposition ; Mildmay had to 
be restored to authority in his own household. That was 
absolutely necessary, and the third act was determined on 
by Taylor before he had the details of it in his mind. This 
assumes that ALL the details were not at hand in being 
supplied by the original novel. Even if he followed the 
novel, the existence of the Material merely saved him 
thought and invention ; he still had to give it dramatic 



84 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

form. It is misleading to suppose that the first act of a 
play is merely introductory and for the purpose of estab- 
lishing the relations between the characters. There must 
be Action and progress from the beginning, development 
not only of character but of Plot. The end of the first 
act brings it up to the point where we see that Mildmay 
holds some weapon behind his back with which he may 
defend himself against Hawksley and perhaps defeat him 
entirely. Whereas at the opening of the act Hawksley had 
everything his own way, at the end of it the relations had 
changed and are in process of change. Hawksley has de- 
feated himself with the aunt, although he continues to the 
last to think that Emily will be silly enough to remain un- 
der his influence. But the audience hopes that Mildmay 
can produce another concealed weapon and defeat Hawk- 
sley. Those things that have been definitely settled only 
add to the tensity of the remaining complications. Mrs. 
Sternhold, we are sure, will keep safe watch on Emily. 
Still, unless Mildmay can completely expose Hawksley 
there is going to be danger in his household. Hawksley 
might fail in his amorous intrigues, and yet Mildmay may 
not be restored to authority. What to assign as the object 
of each act was plain enough. 

The first act of "A New Way to Play Old Debts" 
brings the Action up to the point where Wellborn has 
gained the consent of Lady Allworth to help him in his 
new way to pay old debts. At the end of the second act 
Wellborn has succeeded in getting his deception so far ad- 
vanced that Sir Giles shall hear of his favor with Lady 
Allworth through Marrall. At the end of the third act Sir 
Giles has supplied him with money. At the end of the 
fourth, the two issues in the Proposition now being joined, 
Sir Giles is duped into believing that his daughter is to 
marry Lord Lovell and that he can wrest Wellborn's new 
estates from him. At the end of the fifth act the decep- 
tions practiced on him culminate in success, Sir Giles is 
defeated and dies in an excess of rage and madness. Sooner 



THE DIVISION INTO ACTS 85 

or later these five points were all definitely established. 
Getting the ends of the acts, Massinger constructed back- 
wards from them. Of course, he knew who Wellborn was 
when he fixed the end of the first act, but he had to estab- 
lish who he was and he had to supply all the causes and 
incidents leading up to the end of the act. How to secure 
the end of each act, how to go back to the beginning of 
each allotted space in the journey and trace each step was 
the concern. Did he begin at the beginning without further 
concern and pace it, or write it, off-hand? Just as he ar- 
rived at the proper Division into Acts, he arrived at what 
was to be assigned to each act, and it was a matter of 
Sequence before he could pace it off step by step. It did 
not rrfatter when the servants' scene came to him ; down 
it went in his notes, and its proper place was found when 
the Division into Acts was made. Whether the Plot was 
definite or not at the time, the probable place for this or 
that bit of Material suggested itself. In the first form it 
may have been Life pure and simple ; it had to be converted 
into the dramatic. Some of the original divisions were 
necessarily tentative and were changed, but it is common 
enough to get the Division into Acts at the first throw 
of the net. The objects of each act as we have given them 
do not cover and could not cover the details even of the 
Plot. The subordinate Actions had also to be carried on. 
Everything gradually fell into place. Much of it came into 
being after the Action took on continuous form. Oppor- 
tunities for the use of Greedy caused new material. It is 
not at all meant that you must have your material first and 
then distribute it; the creative process continues and it 
is helped by the growth in form. But the Division into 
Acts helps that growth and it is one of the first things that 
the author naturallv turns to. 



CHAPTER X. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES. 

The Division into Scenes is the Division of the Action 
into units of Action. 

We discuss Action a little later on. - It is enough to say- 
now that Action is involved in every part of a play that we 
have already described, consequently it is not a contradic- 
tion of terms to refer to the Division into Scenes as a Divi- 
sion of the Action. In a general way it might also be de- 
scribed as a Division of the Plot into Scenes, but, the defi- 
nition as it stands is universal, including the play of only 
one act. When a play has more than one act the Division 
into Scenes is made under each act and properly speaking 
is a Division into Scenes of the Plot Action of that act, 
but there are many Scenes that do not belong to the Plot 
but do belong to the Action generally. Some of these 
Scenes are used to meet a technical emergency, to give 
time for an Entrance, to afford Episode, to provide con- 
cealed Preparation, or they are Scenes of transition or 
gradation, with a number of distinctions that it would be 
premature to make at this point. 

We have seen that each Division so far made has a 
definite object. Just as a play itself must have a definite 
object as given in its Proposition, so each act must have a 
definite object or Proposition; and we are now to see that 
each scene must have a definite Proposition or object. 
This applies particularly to Scenes in which there is some- 
thing at issue, but there are scenes that involve only a tech- 
nical object and can hardly be described as having a Pro- 
position. The consequences and essentials of this law that 
a scene must have one main object will be unfolded as 
opportunity presents. You must convince yourself of the 
fact that a play is largely written by means of Scenes and 
that a Division into Scenes is as important as the Division 



the: division into scenes 87 

into Acts. The English writers have rarely made a formal 
Division into numbered Scenes in their manuscripts or 
printed plays. The continental writers invariably do so 
and it is the proper and scientific method. But, in any 
event, any play that is a play has its Scenes and they are 
susceptible of being numbered. If a play cannot be di- 
vided into distinct scenes it is not a play; but we must 
reserve a full discussion of the peculiar technical nature 
and qualities of scene. One thing at a time. A Scene is 
usually formed and numbered according to the Exit or 
Entrance of an important character. For the present ac- 
cept this as the law. Again we take "Ingomar" as a model 
for instruction : 

ACT FIRST. 



Scene 1 



Certain facts are conveyed, but they are all subor- 
dinated to the one object of the scene, — Actea wishes 
to see her daughter. 

Scene 2: — 

The mother urges her to marry "the rich Polydor," 
and we have additional facts, arguments, emotions, 
&c, but the object of the scene is accomplished, and 
the Proposition of it worked out, when Parthenia 
refuses to consent to her mother's urgings to marry 
Polydor. 

Scene 3 : — 

(This lesson, by the way, has nothing to do with 
any discussion as to the use of soliloquies ; one thing 
at a time ; technically and effectively this soliloquy 
accomplishes its purpose.) Will Parthenia make up 
her mind to marry Polydor? That is the Proposi- 
tion of it ; the statement of the object of the scene, 
is: Parthenia makes up her mind to consent, to sell 
herself and "let the price be well secured." 



88 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 4: — 

There is much included in this scene, but every- 
thing is comprehended under the object of the scene; 
Parthenia refuses Polydor. 
Scene 5: — 

This scene carries the Action on to another step: 
Polydor will be revenged on her by driving the father 
from home and ruining him. 
Scene 6 : — 

Object: Lykon comes to bring bad news. 
Scene 7: — 

Lykon tells Theano that Myron, the father, has 
been made captive by the Allennanni. 
Scene 8: — 

A further development of the facts, friends and 
citizens coming on the stage attracted by the news. 
Scene 9: — 

Actea, the mother, is told the news. She swoons 
and is carried into the house. Accurately speaking 
this makes another scene, but we may count it as 
one with the two speeches that follow. It is really a 
scene necessary to give Parthenia her entrance. 
Scene 10: — 

The object of this scene is to show that Parthenia 
can get no help for the ransoming of her father from 
his or her friends and will appeal to the Timarch. 
Scene 11 : — 

She fails with the Timarch, his explanations being 
subordinate to the result of the scene. 
Scene 12 : — 

Parthenia changes her mind and appeals to Poly- 
dor, who scorns her and leaves her helpless indeed. 
Scene 13: — 

We see that Parthenia has taken a resolve. 
Scene 14: — 

Parthenia announces her resolve to go to the 
mountains. So, there you have all the details lead- 
ing up to what was the object of the Act. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 89 

ACT SECOND. 

Scene 1 : — 

The camp ; we see that they are barbarians indeed. 

Scene 2: — 

That Ingomar is the chief, and, incidentally, that 
Myron, Parthenia's father, is captive. 

Scene 3: — 

To show Ingomar's opinion of a woman, — all else 
is incidental, necessary as it is. 
Scene 4: — 

The freebooters are returning. 
Scene 5 : — 

We learn that the daughter has come to entreat 
for ransom for the whining old m)an. 
Scene 6: — 

Ingomar accepts her as hostage for the father. 
Scene 7: — 

Parthenia and her father. This is really a part Oi 
the complete scene which does not end until Ingo- 
mar accepts the offer ; but it is marked as a scene to 
show how distinctly every part of a play should 
stand out. 
Scene 8: — 

Parthenia defines her position. And goes to 
"cleanse the cups." 
Scene 9: — 

To show the effect on Ingomar of the girl's inde- 
pendence. 
Scene 10: — 

Parthenia's growing power over Ingomar brought 
out in the making of the wreath and their dialogue. 
Scene 11 : — 

Parthenia's state of mind. 
Scene 12: — 

To show that the barbarian is brought to meditate 
on the lesson in love that he has had from Parthenia. 



go ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ACT THIRD 
Scene i : — 

To show that the other barbarians are discontent- 
ed; and the danger of Parthenia. 
Scene 2: — 

Ingomar, indifferent to war, absorbed in love, puts 
his warriors off. 
Scene 3: — 

The state of mind shown in his soliloquy, chang- 
ing his nature gradually. 
Scene 4: — 

A passionate love scene, in which he would enjoy 
her in his own way; her offer to slay herself, &c, — 
the object, that he bids her go free. 
Scene 5: — 

That Parthenia will see him again and soften his 
heart before she leaves. 

Nearly all these scenes are rich is subordinate 
things, but this lesson is to get you into the habit of 
seeing that a scene — like an act and the play itself, 
must have one ultimate object, that it must accom- 
plish one specific thing. 
Scene 6: — 

The other savage barbarians, of whose spirit we 
have been kept in mind, come to settle Parthenia's 
fate. 
Scene 7: — 

Ingomar saves her. We could make the two en- 
trances and exits scenes, but we shall count them as 
one scene here. 
Scene 8: — 

Ingomar bargains with the barbarians and gets 
Parthenia for his portion. 
Scene 9: — 

Ingomar will conduct her safely home This last 
scene reaches also the object of the act. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES QI 

ACT FOURTH. 
Scene I : — 

Myron and others trying to raise the ransom. 
Scene 2 : — 

Lykon is trying to get the citizens together. 
Scene 3 : — 

The struggle of the parting of the lovers after In- 
gomar has conducted Parthenia to the very gates of 
her home. Seemingly they part — that is the object 
of the scene, to show their love and seeming parting; 
all else is incidental. 
Scene 4: — 

To show Parthenia's absolute love; her grief at 
Ingomar's departure. 
Scene 5: — 

Ingomar's return ; his inclination to follow her ; 
renouncing his tribe for love. 
Scene 6: — 

The final and absolute yielding of Ingomar. 

ACT FIFTH. 
Scene 1 : — 

Myron is wanted at the council. 
Scene 2: — 

What for? 
Scene 3 : — 

The Allemanni swarm about the city ; a spy is 
suspected. 
Scene 4: — 

Suspicion falls on Ingomar. 
Scene 5 : — 

Polydor, still bent on revenge, takes advantage of 
conditions. 
Scene 6: — 

Parthenia's defense of Ingomar to her mother 
Scene 7 : — 

Parthenia's mother accuses Ingomar of being a 
spy. 



92 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 8: — 

Parthenia's mother insists on the unfaith of In- 
gomar. 
Scene 9: — 

Ingomar and Parthenia, a preparation for his be- 
coming a Greek. 
Scene 10: — 

Myron comes to tell Ingomar that the Timarch 
will honor him — a preparation for the change of re- 
lations between the lovers. 
Scene 11: — 

The Timarch makes an offer that seems infamous 
to Ingomar — involving the betrayal of his old com- 
rades — but such are the terms only by which he can 
become a citizen and have Parthenia. 
Scene 12 : — 

To show Myron's character; oppose the marriage. 
Scene 13: — 

Myron tells Ingomar to go — that he has endan- 
gered himself by harboring him. 
Scene 14: — 

Ingomar gives up hope of gaining Parthenia — 
determines to leave. 
Scene 15: — 

Parthenia hearing of his resolution, will go with 
him, abandoning her people, as he abandoned his for 
her. 
Scene 16: — 

Myron and Actea reproach Parthenia. 
Scene 17: — 

Polydor, having possessed himself of all the notes 
of indebtedness of Myron, is about to ruin him, &c. ; 
Ingomar, for Parthenia's sake, will remain as a slave 
to save him. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 93 

Scene 18: — 

The barbarians, his old companions, come to res- 
cue and protect Ingomar. He refuses to go with 
them. Polydor is thwarted; peace is made; Ingomar 
is made Timarch ; the two lovers will be happy. 
Each lesson teaches you a number of things which are 
not even revealed in what is immediately in hand; the 
main thing in this lesson is to have you convince yourself 
that the division into scenes is essential to good work. 

These pages being intended for the student and not the 
casual reader, I would suggest that the student omit read- 
ing the Division into Scenes of the plays that follow, and 
that he make out his own Divisions after having finished 
all the remaining pages of this analytical section and then 
compare his Divisions with those already made. 

This is the Division of Scenes of "The Lady of 
Lyons" : — 

ACT FIRST. 

Set Scene i. 

Scene I : — 

To introduce the characters and their relations 
and to show certain facts, but to have all these de- 
tails conform to the one main idea of the scene, 
namely, the pride of Pauline. The play concerns her 
pride; this is the first note. The facts proving such 
pride are essential in other ways, but everything 
centers in her pride. It is not, as some students 
suggest, that flowers are being sent by Claude Mel- 
notte, for the audience knows nothing of him. That 
is only an incidental fact showing that she has suit- 
ors who minister to her pride, his being unknown 
making it all the more flattery. She is rich, proud 
and flattered, and expects to marry at her own choice 
some suitor of, high estate. 

Scene 2: — 

Object: The rejection of Beauseant and his conse- 
quent resentment. 



94 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 3 : — 

Is composed of the single speech of the mother. 
It is a connective scene merely. Its main object in 
the mind of the author was technical. 
Scene 4: — 

Mainly to show that Damas has no sympathy with 
her pretensions and pride. That is the visible main 
object, but it has another concealed and vital object, 
that of Preparation, the nature of which principle 
will be pointed out under its proper head. 
Scene 5 : — 

A connective scene, or rather one included under 
the head of Gradation. It rounds the Action off in 
conclusion of the Action that takes place in the first 
Act. 

Set Scene 2. 
Scene 1 : — 

Main object: — to have Beauseant and Glavis con- 
spire and "think of some plan to humble Pauline." 
Scene 2: — 

To have them hear of "The Prince," Claude, 
through the landlord, and to set on foot their Plot. 
The speeches after the exit of the landlord could 
be divided, in a close division, into an additional 
scene. 

Set Scene 3. 
Scene 1 : — 

An introductory and connective scene, — Claude's 
arrival home. 
Scene 2: — 

Main object: — to show Claude's love and his hope 
or expectation of a favorable reply from Pauline to 
his message of love. 
Scene 3: — 

Melnotte's disappointment, humiliation and rage 
at his rejection and the treatment of his messenger. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 95 

Scene 4: — 

A scene supplementary to the preceding, showing, 
in his outbreak to his mother, his rage and mortifi- 
cation. 
Scene 5 : 

The receipt of Beauseant's letter, and his opportu- 
nity to "bring scorn for scorn." 
ACT SECOND. 
Set Scene i. 
Scene 1 : — 

The Plot having succeeded so far, it remains for 
the marriage to take place at once. 
Scene 2 : — 

This is to bring in objectively the fact of the suc- 
cess of Melnotte; but, just as scene first made pro- 
gress in the design to have the marriage take place 
at once, this makes progress and has special Action 
in indicating the danger to Melnotte from the sus- 
picion of Damas. 
Scene 3 : — 

The technical object of this scene is largely con- 
nective or conjunctive ; the whispered remonstrances 
of Beauseant and Glavis lead up to the next scene 
with Damas. 
Scene 4: — 

To cause the outburst of Damas, who affronts 
and challenges Melnotte. 
Scene 5 : — 

Conjunctive, leading up to the scene between the 
two lovers. 
Scene 6: — 

The real object of this scene (without which it 
is meaningless and without Action) is Melnotte's 
struggle with himself and his test of her love, — if 
she should love him for himself and not as a Prince 
only. The result of his test is that he believes that 
she loves him, and he will break his bargain or oath 
with the two conspirators. 



g6 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

Scene 7: — 

To have them convince him that he cannot retreat. 
Scene 8: — 

To convert Damas into a friend through the duel 
and to hold out the chance for refuge in the army. 
Scene 9: — 

To have Beauseant spring his trick to hasten the 
marriage. 
Scene 10 — 

To carry the trick through. 
Scene 11 : — 

To clench the trick and draw the act to a close. 
ACT THIRD. 
Set Scene 1. 
Scene 1 : — 

Introductory, — to show that Melnotte has married 
Pauline and arrived at the Inn. 
Scene 2 : — 

Connective ; Beauseant and Glavis at hand to wit- 
ness results. 
Scene 3: — 

To show the remorse of Melnotte and his scorn 
of the two conspirators. 
Scene 4: — 

Conjunctive, but indicating that he will not con- 
fess his villainy until she is at his mother's cottage. 
Scene 5 : — 

Conjunctive, — showing that she has no suspicion. 
Scene 6: — 

How to induce her to accompany him to the cot- 
tage. 

Set Scene 2. 
Scene 1 : — 

Main object, — with reference to the Action, — to 
show that the mother believes that Melnotte has re- 
vealed his artifice to Pauline. (Do you not see that 
the facts brought forward otherwise are incidental?) 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 97 

Scene 2 : — 

The revelation to Pauline; her horror. 
Scene 3 : — 

Melnotte's passionate defence and its effect on her 
to make her "cease to hate him ;" his offer to free 
her. 
Scene 4: — 

He confides her for the night to his mother. 
ACT FOURTH. 
Set Scene i. 
Scene 1 : — 

Introductory; — he will enlist to atone. 
Scene 2: — 

Connective ; talk with the mother, his design to 
win back an honest name. We may count as a scene 
the widow's lines when alone, but it is not absolutely 
necessary to do so. One technical use of them is to 
give Pauline her entrance. 
Scene 3 : — 

Showing the state of mind of Pauline — loving but 
not ready to forgive. 
Scene 4: — 

The widow's confirmation and proof of Melnotte's 
love for Pauline plays upon her hesitating position. 
Scene 5 : — 

Beauseant's ruse to get the widow away. 
Scene 6: — 

Beauseant's appeal and Pauline's steadfastness ; 
Beausant's familiarity. 
Scene 7: — 

Melnotte rescues her from his embrace, adding to 
Beauseant's spirit of revenge, and bringing out Pau- 
line's state of mind. 
Scene 8: — 

Conjunctive, but still playing on the state of mind 
and relation. 
7 



98 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 9: — 

Conjunctive and preparatory for the coming of 
Pauline's parents, — still playing on Pauline's state 
of mind and the relations. 

Scene 10: — 

Accomplishes two objects of almost equal import- 
ance, the separation of the lovers and the departure 
of Melnotte with Damas for the Wars, the latter 
being subordinate. The last lines of Pauline may be 
considered of the one scene. 

ACT FIFTH. 
Set Scene 1. 

Scene 1 : — 

Introductory; — essential facts of Conditions Pre- 
cedent conveyed. 
Scene 2: — 

To prepare for Morier, as Melnotte is now known. 
Scene 3: — 

To further develop the conditions and to confirm 
our suspicions of Morier as Melnotte. 

Scene 4: — 

To inform Damas of the real state of affairs, that 
Pauline is about to consent to a divorce; to make 
himf believe that Pauline may be constant. (Other 
facts are subordinate, important as they are in de- 
veloping the Action here.) 
Scene 5 : — 

To have Deschapelles invite Damas to the signing 
of the papers. 
Scene 6: — 

To have Melnotte doubt Pauline's constancy. 
Scene 7: — 

To have Damas bid him hope and persuade him 
to go with him to the house, as he would not be 
known. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 99 

Set Scene 2. 

Scene 1 : — 

To show that Pauline still loves, but must sacri- 
fice herself to save her father. 

Scene 2: — 

To convince her that there is no hope, — that the 
sacrifice must be. 

Scene 3 : — 

Beauseant denies Pauline mercy and insists on 
the contract of marriage. 

Scene 4: — 

This is a composite scene, that is, one in which 
several distinct and yet related incidents take place. 
First, Damas learns why she has consented to marry 
Beauseant; second, introduces her to Morier; third, 
their interview in which she gives her message of 
devotion to Melnotte ; fourth, Melnotte's paying of 
the debt and Beauseant's defeat. 

Scene 5 : — 

The reconciliation of all concerned; happiness; 
the end. This division of the Material and the acts 
into scenes Is with reference to the Action; we have 
given the object of each scene to that purpose. 
Scenes have other objects even than the subordinate 
ones which appear in the scenes as acted and seen. 
They have objects which are not seen, and which, 
in a certain sense, are often the main objects, — but 
of that later. 

THE DIVISION INTO SCENES OF "CAMILLE." 

In the preliminary analytical exercises we have consid- 
ered the Division into Scenes with reference simply to the 
main object of each scene. We shall now pass beyond that 
restriction and discuss Division into Scenes as it is influ- 
enced by all the principles and by their technical require- 
ments. For this purpose we first take up "Camille." 



IOO ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ACT FIRST. 
Scene i: — Varville awaits Camille. This scene consists of 
but four speeches, and ends upon the entrance of 
Nichette. Every idea conveyed in it is definite. 
That Camille is not to return until half-past ten, 
and that it is not yet ten, serves the immediate 
purpose of preparing us for the entrance of some 
one not Camille, and also keeps the audience at 
ease in the Dialogue between Nanine and Varville 
in the third scene. Thus not a word in the scene 
is lost. The scene stands out in its function with 
absolute distinctness. 

Scene 2: — The second scene begins with the entrance of 
Nichette^ and ends with her exit. The immediate 
technical object of it is to give occasion for the 
third scene and its Dialogue. 

In the original French these scenes are num- 
bered ; in French's edition they are not. But if we 
follow the number of Divisions, a comparison with 
the original will show that our arrangement is 
identical except as it may be influenced by slight 
changes in the adaptation made by Mathilda 
Heron. • In addition to the numbering of scenes, 
the French author always puts at the head of the 
scene the characters involved in it; for instance, 
Scene 2, Varville, Nanine and Nichette. One object 
of the author was to introduce Nichette at this 
point in order to avoid the crowding of introduc- 
tions at other points in the Action. Nichette is 
made to serve a technical purpose, and her story is 
incidentally brought out. In the next scene, in- 
volved in it and as a corellary to it, it is shown that 
Camille has humble friends, and that they love 
her. 

Scene 3 : — The third scene brings out the fact as its main 
object that Varville's suit does not thrive, and in- 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES IOI 

cidentally it conveys the previous history of Ca- 
mille. 

See how naturally the Sequence flows. As soon 
as Nichette goes out, Varville asks, Who is she? 
She is a girl that Camille is fond of, for they 
worked together in the same room. Varville had 
not known before that Camille had been an em- 
broideress, a working girl. Everything that is said 
is so naturally brought out that the essential idea 
impresses us as one thing, an explanation of Ca- 
mille's indifference to all men and consequently to 
Varville. 

Scene 4: — The object of this scene is to show definitely 
that Camille does not care for Varville. 

Incidental facts are introduced. We see that 
Camille is ill. We learn that she has been at the 
Opera, where she has met Olimpe and Gaston who 
will be here presently. 

Scene 5 : — The object of this scene is to lead up to the com- 
ing of Prudence with her friend. 

Olimpe and Gaston arrive and the Action de- 
velopes their character and relations ; it is made 
known that Prudence is a neighbor across the way 
and who she is. Prudence, on being called from 
the window, accepts the invitation for supper if 
she may bring a friend. 

Scene 6: — The object is largely technical: To prepare for 
the supper by introducing Armand to Camille and 
getting Varville off. 

However, facts are conveyed and relations de- 
veloped with, of course, that display of character 
which is a constant element in all Action. Camille 
learns of his mad love for her as told by Prudence ; 
details of his history and family are brought out, 
and the scene continues to the exit of Varville. 
This is a composite scene, inasmuch as there are 



102 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

a number of semi-detached incidents and Dia- 
logues in it. While the Action consists largely in 
the curiosity and expectation of the audience, 
aroused by the coming of this new suitor, the sub- 
ordinate interest is maintained by the presence on 
the stage of Varville. Observe that he is kept on 
the stage, and dismissed before the beginning of 
the supper. When the supper begins the interest 
naturally centers on Armand and Camille. 

Scene 7: — The main object of this scene is to advance the 
relations between Camille and Armand. 

That this is the main object of the scene is not 
so apparent in the text as it is in the intelligent 
acting of it. This scene is known as the supper 
scene and as such is distinctly an episode. The 
chatter is meaningless. That is to say, the talk 
between the characters has no direct bearing on the 
Plot. Substitute anything else of the same enter- 
taining quality and it would answer exactly the 
same purpose. What the characters do is as frivo- 
lous as what they say. The episode shows the at- 
mosphere in which Camille lives, her abandonment 
to pleasures of the kind, and that Armand is a new 
experience to her, entirely different from those who 
surround her. The real significance in the scene 
is that which is implied in it and hardly expressed 
in words. It is Armand's increasing devotion and 
solicitude and Camille's recognition of Armand's 
character. Out of this the drama is to grow. The 
other characters are wholly unconscious of the 
drama which is at hand. We know that Camille 
is indifferent to men, and little attention do the 
others pay to the fluttering of this new moth about 
the flame. Take out of this scene the interest 
which the audience has in the two principal char- 
acters and it would be absolutely devoid of Action 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES IO3 

with reference to the development of the Story. It 
is an excellent example of episode and the inciden- 
tal use of character contributing incidentally to 
the progress of the Action. All the chatter and all 
the incidents of the scene are subordinate to the 
main impression indicated. The gaiety and aban- 
donment of Camille's guests cause Camille to be- 
come weary of it all physically and spiritually 
and to ask them to leave her. Thus, the very frivoli- 
ty of the scene serves a technical purpose in get- 
ting the guests off the stage in order to leave Ca- 
mille and Armand alone. 

Scene 8 : — Armand's declaration of love for Camille and his 
offer to "lead her thoughts to content in a home 
more worthy of her." 

Scene 9: — The object of this scene is expressed in a single 
sentence which composes it. 

As short as it is this is properly a scene of itself 
and subject to division as a scene. Camille is 
alone. No one shares emotion with her. Her rec- 
ognition that Armand loves her she has not ex- 
pressed to him. It is not a part of the preceding 
scene. She does not tell hiirv that, "There is a new 
found meaning in those simple words that never 
fell upon my ears before." She does not say this 
to her gay companions of the next scene. Could 
there be anything more detached? Why, then 
should it not be a scene by itself. There is a ten- 
dency in recent productions of this play to have the 
act close with this scene as a finality, but Dumas 
wisely chose to end the act with another scene. In 
a certain sense the object of the act is reached with 
this scene, but Technique is not so mechanical as 
to preclude the following scene. 

Scene 10 — The object is to bring the act to a close with the 
revelry and abandonment of life which make up 
the feverish existence of Camille, from which Ar- 



104 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

mand offers to rescue her and which she is not yet 
ready to abandon. While it is episodic it is also 
very definite. The act has shown Armand's sin- 
cere love for her and that she is in a state of won- 
derment about this new meaning of love. 

ACT II. 

Scene I : — That Camille is in love with Armand. This 
being the fact, we at once see the progress in the 
Action. Of course, there are other objects in 
the scene, but if we do not establish a main ob- 
ject we bring things into confusion. There is an 
object, direct or incidental, immediate or remote, in 
every line. Incidentally we have Madam Pru- 
dence's greed for money in her borrowing, but to 
make that the object of the scene would be to re- 
duce it to insolvency. That is purely incidental. It 
is incidental also that Camille has obtained the 
money from the Duke and that she intends to go to 
the country. Why does she intend to go? Be- 
cause of her love, and in her pursuance of Ar- 
mand's offer to withdraw her from her feverish ex- 
istence in Paris. There are objects of Preparation 
in the scene, but the main object of the scene must 
always be considered with reference to the aud- 
ience, and the predominating effect of this scene on 
the audience will be Camille's love, and all else 
will be subordinate. The author has many hidden 
objects, much that is technical. The dramatist 
predetermines his main object and subordinates 
everything in the scene to it. 

Scene 2: — Purely connective, or transitional, in order to 
give Madam Prudence her exit. You will observe 
that in these technical transitional scenes there is 
always something that pays for itself and interests 
us so that the technical scene does not become 
merely technical. When Armand says, "I saw but 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES IO5 

her" we perceive a certain advance in the Action 
because of this evidence of his growing infatuation 
for Camille. A like impression has been produced 
by Camille's saying to Armand that she knew his 
ring. Prudence's lines are characteristic. 

Scene 3: — The main object is to bring out the jealousy of 
Armand with reference to her plan which involves 
the use of the money from the Duke, as also to 
give a reason for Armand's doubt of Camille, which 
is emphasized by his suspicion that she is waiting 
for some one. 

Scene 4: — Connective; — incidentally emphasizing Camille's 
love. 

Scene 5 : — Camille is willing to let Varville pay her debts, 
not yet fully appreciating Armand's point of view, 
although she does love Armand and is absolutely 
indifferent to Varville. The scene takes a new 
turn when Nanine brings Armand's letter. It 
could be counted as the beginning of a new scene, 
but Dumas does not make the Division. The re- 
sult is that the object of the whole scene is that 
Camille determines to accept Varville's invitation 
to supper. 

Scene 6 : — Connective ; — in order to provide time. 

Scene 7: — This scene is also connective, and may be de- 
scribed as intensive in its purpose, for it serves to 
emphasize the excitement under which Armand is 
laboring. 

Scene 8: — Camille, in a conflict of emotion, sends Nanine to 
excuse her to Varville, and awaits Armand by rea- 
son of Prudence's representations. If we were 
dividing the scenes closer, Nanine's return to an- 
nounce the departure of Varville and then her exit 
could be counted as a scene, but it may be reck- 
oned as a part of scene eight. 



106 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

Scene 9: — It has for its object the development of the con- 
flict between love and circumstances, at the end of 
of which they are about to part, Camille telling- 
him, "that is your way, this is mine.'' The en- 
trance of Nanine with the letter from Varville 
might be reckoned as a new scene, and as the con- 
clusion of scene nine. In the latter event, the ob- 
ject of the new scene would be the complete re- 
conciliation of Armand and Camille, Camille de- 
ciding to throw Varville over. She accepts the 
touch-stone of her worth. 

ACT III. 

Scene 1 : — Introductory. The action of this scene consists 
in the development of Facts. In that sense it may 
be called a passive scene, but these conditions and 
facts have a bearing on the Action of this Act. 

Scene 2: — A scene of a contrast to show the security of 
love in the case of Nichette and Gustave which 
Camille longs for. Incidentally we learn of Ca- 
mille's plans. The main general object of the first 
two scenes is to prepare for the entrance of Duval, 
the father of Armand. The preparation is techni- 
cal and specific, for the purposes of contrast and 
unexpectedness, in that Camille is expecting a bro- 
ker who is to sell her effects in order to enable her 
to hire and live in a cottage alone with Armand. 
The main sentimental effect sought is the setting 
forth of her hopes, and then the dashing of them in 
scene three. 

Scene 3 : — Camille consents to sacrifice herself in order to 
save Armand. This is one of the greatest scenes 
in the play, the climax to it, and it is compact with 
the Action. It would be difficult to find a better 
example of the true meaning of Action. The con- 
flict is spiritual and internal. The Business of it 
sinks into contempt and insignificance compared 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 107 

with the play of argument, the stern but unanswer- 
able logic of the father, the defiance, the appeals, 
the emotions, the humiliation, the desperate de- 
fence of her right to love, and the complex emo- 
tions of Camille. Observe that there is hardly a 
line of Business indicated in the long scene. 

Scene 4: — Camille writes the letter of reunuciation to Ar- 
mand. 

Scene 5 : — Camille's effort to conceal her purpose from Ar- 
mand, and to part from him without revealing her 
resolution. 

Scene 6 : — In the original, Dumas makes one scene of all be- 
tween this period and the close of the act. The ob- 
ject of the scene is to effect Camille's sacrifice by 
having Armand believe that he has been deserted 
for Varville. 

ACT IV. 

Scene 1 : — That Armand intends to call Varville to account. 
This is one month later than the close of the last 
act. Necessarily what has happened in the mean- 
time and the new conditions have to be set forth. 
As they are developed, we recognize Action in 
them of changed relations, and our feelings are at 
the bottom of the new turns in the Story. Observe 
that nothing is told for the mere information of the 
audience, and that the medium of communicating 
the facts is Prudence. Her gossip is entirely na- 
tural, and the subjective effect on Armand is ap- 
parent. 

Scene 2: — The game of cards in which Armand seeks a dif- 
ficulty with Varville. 

This is a composite scene ; the first part of it 
shows Camille's apprehension and unhappiness, 
and the second, Armand's spirit and cumulative 
efforts directed toward revenge. 

Scene 3 : — Camille sends Madam Prudence to find Armand. 



108 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 4: — Armand's bitter denunciation of her. Camille in 
pursuance of her self-sacrifice falteringly admits 
she loves Varville. 

Scene 5 : — Armand expresses his contemppt of Camille by- 
throwing a shower of notes and gold upon her, 
securing his opportunity for revenge on Varville, 
who interposes and strikes him, an act which 
means a duel. 

ACT V. 

Scene 1 : — Camille's illness and changed condition. 

Here again we encounter what we may describe 
as a passive scene in that the Plot Action is almost 
suspended. Compared with the other acts of the 
play, this Act has few turns in the larger Action, 
but abounds in minor Action. The Plot Action, 
distant as it is, in these passive scenes is supplied 
by the hope of the audience that Camille will not 
die, and that Armand may yet return to her. 
The fact that the room is poorly furnished indi- 
cates at once that she is no longer under the pro- 
tection of Varville. 

Scene 2: — Another passive scene, full of minor Action, 
showing the attention of Nanine. 

Scene 3 : — Between Gaston and Camille. This is a contin- 
uation of the conditions of the present moment 
with Camille, and there is a constant play of senti- 
ment and reminiscence. 

Scene 4 : — The introduction of the presents, and the remin- 
der that it is the wedding day of Nichette. 

Scene 5 : — A connective scene introducing Prudence. 

Scene 6: — That Prudence borrows money is purely inci- 
dental to the m|ain object of the scene, which is 
that Camille parts company gladly with her own 
companions. • 

Scene 7: — The letter from Armand's father, and Nanine's 
return and announcing the coming of Armand. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES IO9 

Here for the first time in this version of the play, 
we reach a new turn in the larger Action. 

Scene 8:— The reconciliation with Armand. 

Scene 9: — The death of Camille. "All pain is gone, now 
everything appears to change. Oh ! How Beauti- 
ful ! Do not wake me — I am so sleepy." 

The Division into Scenes of "Still Waters Run Deep." 
ACT I. 

Scene 1 : — To show that Mildmay is a nonenity in his 
own household. 

The relations of the characters are all set forth 
with reference to this state of affairs, and many 
facts are introduced. But it will be observed that 
everything is subordinate to the main object of the 
scene. In this scene of nearly three pages, not a 
single other element in the Action of the play is 
introduced. Everything shows why Mildmay is 
regarded as a rr^an without a will of his own, stu- 
pid, as one "whom you can do what you like with 
if you only take the trouble," as Mrs. Sternhold 
says. All his habits go to show his domestic na- 
ture, his earthing up the celery, his submissive- 
ness, his being nagged at by all of them, &c. 
Everything is incidental to the main idea. Even 
his statement that he is going to Manchester that 
night is not put in directlly as a matter that af- 
fects the Plot, but is really an indication, as the 
audience takes it, of how indifferent he has become 
to home life under this state of affairs, or that he 
can take none of them into his confidence. Still, 
all the facts in the scene are important, but it 
would be difficult to find a scene in which the inci- 
dents and details are so conclusive as to the main 
desired impression of the scene. 

Scene 2:— Mrs. Mildmay's sentimentality, and her liking 
for Hawksley whom she compares with Mildmay. 



110 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

We have seen from one remark by Mrs. Mild- 
may that she is sentimental, and this scene ac- 
centuates it by the suggestion in a line in which 
she compares Mildmay to Hawksley, of whom we 
now hear for the first time. 

Scene 3: — To convey Potter's suspicion to Mrs. Sternhold 
that the relations between Mrs. Mildmay and 
Hawksley are too intimate. 

It would not do to say that the main object of 
this scene was the discussion between Mrs. Stern- 
hold and Potter concerning the investment in 
Hawksley's shares. Observe that that discussion 
leads up to Potter's revelation of his suspicion, 
which is the main object of this scene. The talk 
about the shares is one object of the scene, but 
there could be no better illustration of a main ob- 
ject and a subordinate object than can be found in 
the management of the two. 

Scene 4: — Mrs. Sternhold determines to satisfy herself in 
regard to Potter's suspicions. 

Observe that the audience has no inkling of Mrs. 
Sternhold's relations with Hawksley, but what she 
does in this scene has direct reference to what Pot- 
ter has told her, and grows directly out of it. She 
retires behind the screen to take observations. 

Scene 5 : — Captain Hawksley presses his suit with Mrs. 
Mildmay, explaining to her his design and means 
of entering the house to her after the others have 
retired. 

Scene 6: — Mrs. Sternhold expresses her indignation and in- 
tention to move against Hawksley. For the first 
time we learn that Hawksley has trifled with her 
too. 

Scene 7: — Mildmay has Jessup bring in the ladder so that 
he can paint the trellis. 

Scene 8: — Potter's caution with Hawksley about buying 
additional shares. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES III 

Scene 9: — Hawksley delivers the letter from Manchester to 
Mildmay. 

Scene 10: — Mrs. Sternhold will continue to watch Hawks- 
ley and Mrs. Mildmay for herself and for Mildmay, 
who she thinks is an unsuspecting fool. 

Scene 11: — Mildmay leaves the impression that he is still 
going to Manchester. 

Scene 12 : — Mildmay seems to commend to Potter further 
investment with Hawksley. 

Scene 13 : — The letter renders Mildmay's trip to Manchester 
unnecessary. 

Scene 14: — Mrs. Sternhold tells Mrs. Mildmay what she 
has overheard, and sends her to her room so as to 
meet Hawksley in her place. 

Scene 15 : — A scene of convenience to get Mrs. Sternhold 
off. She goes out to see that all is quiet up stairs. 

Scene 16: — Mildmay has seen Gimlet the detective, and 
now returns to talk with Mrs. Sternhold about the 
investment. He goes out to deposit his carpet bag 
in his room. 

Scene 17: — Mildmay overhears the interview between Mrs. 
Sternhold and Hawksley in which Hawksley 
threatens her with the letters from her which he 
holds, and will proceed with his schemes against 
Mildmay's money and his wife. 

Scene 18: — Mrs. Sternhold assures Mrs. Mildmay that she 
is safe for the night, and they retire. 

Scene 19: — Mildmay is now in possession of the true state 
of affairs, and has not lost confidence in his wife. 

Scene 20: — Mildmay leaves his wife in alarm lest he should 
meet Hawksley as he makes his round of the gar- 
den and locks all the doors; but the main object 
is to show that Mildmay has determlined to use 
other means to dispose of Hawksley than a shot 
gun. 



112 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ACT II. 

Set Scene i. 

Scene I : — Potter tells Mrs. Sternhold, to her consternation, 
that Mildmay will invest as she wishes, and she 
sends for Mildmay. 

Scene 2: — Mrs. Sternhold has hopes of getting Mildmay 
to act for her as a last resort in getting back her 
letters. 

Scene 3: — Mrs. Sternhold approaches him on the subject, 
but Mildmay, understanding her perfectly, puts 
her off by reminding her that he is not a man of 
spirit, as she herself has said. 

Scene 4: — Potter advises Mildmay to be careful in specu- 
lating with Hawksley. He thinks Mildmay is 
stupid. 

Scene 5 : — Closes the scene with Potter's belief that Mild- 
may is inexperienced, and that he himself is a very 
clever fellow. 

Set Scene 2. 

Scene 1 : — Hawksley waits for Mildmay, and shows in his 
reflections that he is uneasy about his affairs, but 
is confident in his power to dupe the others. 

Scene 2: — Dunbilk and Hawksley. The instability of the 
Company made plain and Mildmay's confidence in 
his ability to manage the affair. 

Scene 3 : — Mildmay outwits Hawksley, gets Mrs. Stern- 
hold's letters, and makes him take back the shares 
by proving to Hawksley his knowledge of his past 
forgeries, by producing the forged bill. 

ACT III. 

Scene 1 : — Preparation for sending off the letters postpon- 
ing the dinner. The ignorance of Potter and the 
perplexity of Mrs. Sternhold. 

Scene 2: — Potter and Mrs. Sternhold still think Mildmay 
stupid. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES II3 

Scene 3 : — Mrs. Sternhold is astonished by Mildmay's re- 
turn of her compromising letters. The notes re- 
calling the dinner torn up. 

Scene 4: — Potter is told that the dinner is to be given. 

Scene 5 : — Mildmay forces an understanding on Mrs. Stern- 
hold, relegating her to a subordinate place in the 
household. 

Scene 6: — Mildmay explains to his wife that he understands 
the danger she was in, and she acknowledges with 
love his authority and that he has rescued her. 

Scene 7: — Potter in his stupidity awaits Dunbilk, "an un- 
common pleasant fellow," and the other guests. 

Scene 8: — The introduction of the guests, preparatory to 
the coming of Hawksley. 

Scene 9: — Mildmay introduces Gimlet, the detective, under 
the name of Maxwell. 

Scene 10: — Hawksley's arrival, and his impudent attempt to 
horsewhip Mildmay. 

Scene 11 : — Mildmay forces Hawksley to refuse a duel with 
one of the pistols unloaded. 

Scene 12: — Gimlet arrests Hawksley for forgery, on evi- 
dence just completed. 

Scene 13 : — Mildmay is the master of the house. 

THE DIVISION INTO SCENES OF " A NEW WAY 
TO PAY OLD DEBTS." 
Set Scene x. 
Scene 1 : — That Wellborn is an outcast and friendless. 

Everything under that main idea is detail. We 
learn why he is friendless, and how friendless he 
is, his relations with Tapwell and Froth, and their 
obligations to him. His profligacy, and his ruin 
by Sir Giles Overreach. That he gives Tapwell 
forty pounds to buy the cottage, and all other de- 
tails are subordinate, and derived from and explan- 
atory of the main object. 
Scene 2: — That Wellborn has a friend in Allworth. 
8 



114 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 3: — That Wellborn refuses aid from Allworth, and 
will retrieve his fortunes in his own way. 

These are important details, particularly as to 
Allworth's love for Margaret, but all are incidental 
to the main object described. 
Set Scene 2. 

Scene 1 : — Shows the opulence of Lady Allworth, and the 
character of the servants. 

This is what may be called a conditional scene. 
It is introductory, and develops the conditions of 
the life of Lady Allworth in whom we take an in- 
terest, provided for by previous dialogue. An im- 
portant detail is the reference to Justice Greedy, 
but it will be observed that it is subordinate to the 
main object of the scene. 

Scene 2: — The cordial reception of Allworth. 

Scene 3 : — The characteristic introduction of Lady All- 
worth and her maids. 

Scene 4: — Lady Allworth's friendly reception of Allworth, 
and her warning him against association with 
Wellborn. 

So far, the scenes have been largely conditional 
and expository action, but this warning against 
Wellborn strikes a distinct note in the Action. 

Scene 5 : — The introduction of Greedy and Sir Giles. 

This is also a conditional scene and preparatory 
for the minor comedy involved in the character of 
Greedy. 

Scene 6: — Wellborn spurned by Sir Giles. 

Scene 7: — Wellborn's forlorn condition accented by the 
speech addressed to him by the servants. 

Scene 8: — Wellborn's unexpected rebuff by Allworth. 

Scene 9 : — Another conditional accent of the apparent help- 
lessness of Wellborn's visit in the attack of Abigail 
and Tabitha. 

Scene 10: — The culmination of the impudence of the serv- 
ants. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 1 15 

Scene Ii: — Wellborn melts and prevails over Lady All- 
worth, who falls into his plan and agrees to fur- 
nish him with the means to beget the opinion of 
Sir Giles that he is in favor with her. 
Scene 12: — The servants, having witnessed the reconcilia- 
tion, change their demeanor. 

Scene 13 : — A scene of gradation to close the act. 

ACT II. 
Set Scene 1. 

Scene 1 : — An exposition of the character and methods of 
Sir Giles, and specifically his plan to marry his 
daughter Margaret to Lord Lovell. 

Incidental to the main object of the scene we get 
the relations of Justice Greedy to his methods. It 
is clear that Sir Giles' plan to have Marrall com- 
plete the ruin of Wellborn by persuading him to 
steal is entirely subordinate to the main object of 
the scene as stated, for nothing comes of that par- 
ticular thing. 

Scene 2 : — Connective. The entrance of Wellborn. 

Scene 3 : — A turn in the Action. Wellborn inviting Mar- 
rall to dine with him at Lady Allworth's. 
Set Scene 2. 

Scene 1 : — Allworth leaves Lady Allworth's house to return 
with Lord Lovell, who is to visit her. 

Scene 2: — Connective. Wellborn knocks at the door. 

Scene 3 : — Wellborn's cordial reception. 

Scene 4 : — A continuation of the reception of Amble. 

Scene 5 : — The same with Furnace, and the amazement of 
Marrall during these incidents, which may be reck- 
oned as a single scene. 

Scene 6 : — Wellborn's cordial greeting by Tabitha and Abi- 
gail. 

These last four scenes practically constitute a 
single scene. 



Il6 ANALYSIS OK DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 7: — Wellborn's reception by Lady Allworth. 

Marrall's amazement is completed by his being 
invited to the surprising honor of a seat at her 
table, all because of her graciousness to Wellborn. 

Scene 8: — A conditional scene in which the servants ex- 
press their wonder at the turn affairs have taken 
and discuss Sir Giles Overreach. 

Scene 9: — Amble, Furnace and the servants report the do- 
ings at the table. 

It has special reference to the effect of all this 
condescension of Lady Allworth on Marrall. 

Scene 10: — Lady A's instruction to Marrall to reverence 
Wellborn completes the impression. 

Scene 11: — A scene of gradation in which Lady Allworth 
forgives her servants. 

Set Scene 3. 

Scene 1 : — Wellborn completes his deception and mastery 
of Marrall. 

Scene 2: — Marrall, with a liking for Wellborn's sweet na- 
ture, is rascally enough to think him "fit again to 
be cheated'' when he is "possessed of the land and 
lady." 

Scene 3 : — Sir Giles discredits Marrall's account of the favor 
bestowed on Wellborn and strikes him. A blow 
which Marrall receives with humbleness, but with 
a hidden spirit of revenge. 
ACT III. 
Set Scene 1. 

Scene 1 : — Discloses that Lord Lovell is to appear as suitor 
for Margaret. 

Sir Giles does not permit Allworth to enter the 
house, and this is a part of the scheme to further 
the love affair between Allworth and Margaret. 
Set Scene 2. 

Scene 1 : — Sir Giles' preparation for an impressive reception 
of Lovell. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 117 

We have seen at the close of Act II that he ex- 
pects himj. The presence of Greedy in this scene 
is incidental and in preparation for the comedy, for 
Sir Giles gives over to Greedy the control of the 
kitchen. 

Scene 2 : — Connective and preparatory. 

He proposes to lecture his daughter as to her 
bearing toward Lovell. It will be observed in this 
act there are more exits and entrances sometimes 
of "important" persons than can be assigned to 
distinct scenes. It is obvious that Massinger 
worked with considerable freedom ; at the same 
time the scenes followed their natural dramatic 
order. It is what a scene accomplishes that makes 
a scene, irrespective of those exits and entrances 
which do not affect the object of the scene, conse- 
quently, there is no discrepency in the loose man- 
agement of the exits and entrances. 

Scene 3 : — Sir Giles unfolds his aim to Margaret, and his 
ambition for her. Observe that the scene is gen- 
eral. 

Scene 4: — The comedy relief of Greedy's complaints. 

Scene 5 : — Sir Giles is specific and speaks to Margaret of 
Lord Lovell. 

Scene 6: — The comedy of Greedy. 

Massinger was a practical dramatist, and in 
making all possible use of this comedy episode, 
he was not making a mere concession to the popu- 
lar taste for amusement. Back of it all is the Ac- 
tion implied in the character of Greedy, who is 
utterly abandoned to his appetite and is Sir Giles's 
tocl in every villainy requiring his assistance. 
Without this comedy, the play would be baldly 
villainous. 

Scene 7 : — The climax of Sir Giles's expression of his na- 
ture, and explanation of his plans with Margaret : 
"therefore, when he kisses you, kiss close." 



Il8 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Scene 8: — Connective and introductory to the entrance of 
Lord Lovell. 

Scene 9 : — The greeting of Lovell. 

Scene 10: — Margaret's reluctance, and Sir Giles's caution. 

Scene 11: — Lovell plays his part. Sir Giles leaves them 
to themselves. 

Scene 12: — Paves the way to Margaret's confidence with 
Lovell, in an aside in which she reveals her secret, 
their whispering to each other deceiving Sir Giles. 

Scene 13 : — The comedy of Greedy. 

Scene 14: — Shows that Margaret and Lovell had come to 
an agreement. 

Scene 15: — Sir Giles's having been taken in by appear- 
ances enables Lord Lovell to introduce Allworth 
favorably to Sir Giles, who says to Allworth, "Now 
my house is ever open to you." 

Scene 16 : — Lady Allworth forces Sir Giles to receive Well- 
born. 

Scene 17: — Connective. Greedy's amazement over Well- 
born's relations with Lady Allworth. 

Scene 18 : — The comedy episode of Greedy. 

Scene 19: — Sir Giles is completely taken in by Lady All- 
worth's attention to Wellborn. 

Scene 20: — Connective. Sir Giles proposes to make friends 
with Wellborn, believing that he can secure for 
himself by trickery the fortune which Wellborn 
will marry. He sends for Wellborn. 

Scene 21: — Connective; confirming Sir Giles's belief as to 
Lady Allworth's designs and Wellborn's good 
fortune. 

Scene 22\ — Lady Allworth confirms Sir Giles' belief as to 
her relations with Wellborn. 

Scene 23 : — The scheme works, and Sir Giles provides Well- 
born with clothing and money. 



THE DIVISION INTO SCENES 119 

ACT IV. 

Set Scene 1. 

Scene 1 : — Lovell gives Allworth a letter which is to play a 

decisive part. 
Scene 2: — Sir Giles sends money to discharge the debt of 

his nephew. 
Scene 3: — Sir Giles sends Allworth money to procure the 

license for marriage and his ring to take him into 

the presence of Margaret. 
Scene 4: — Sir Giles reveals his character to Lord Lovell. 

The scene is conditional, but progressive, and 

it confirms the purpose and resolutions of Lovell 

in the deception of the scheming old man. 
Scene 5: — Connective, expressing Lord Lovell's abhorrence 

of Sir Giles. 
Scene 6: — Brings Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth together, 

both interested to serve the affair of Margaret. 
Set Scene 2. 
Scene 1 : — Tapwell and Froth apprehensive of Wellborn, 

knowing that he has found out "such a new way to 

pay old debts." 
Scene 3 : — They meet their just desserts from Wellborn at 

the hands of Greedy, who withdraws their license. 
Scene 3 : — Wellborn disposes of his other creditors. 

This scene is episodic, but properly a part of 

the Action. 
Scene 4: — Marrall's weighty secret. He suggests to Well- 
born to demand that Sir Giles produce the deed 

held over him. 

Set Scene 3. 
Scene 1 : — Margaret will brave the wrath of her father in 

mjarrying Allworth. 
Scene 2: — Sir Giles is duped by Lovell's letter asking that 

Margaret be secretly married to him. 
Scene 3 : — Sir Giles feels cocksure, and that it only remains 

for him to ruin Wellborn and possess the widow's 

lands. 



120 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

ACT V. 
Scene I : — Lady Allworth formally accepts Lovell, although 

they remain in doubt as to the issue of their 

scheme for Margaret's marriage. 
Scene 2: — Wellborn announces Sir Giles' uneasiness at the 

disappearance of his daughter. 
Scene 3 : — Sir Giles, uneasy about the deed, berates Marrall. 
Scene 4: — Sir Giles believes that Lord Lovell and his 

daughter are married and now demands security 

from Wellborn. 
Scene 5 : — The discovery of the obliterated deed. 
Scene 6: — The parson confirms the marriage, which Sir 

Giles thinks for the moment is that of Margaret 

and Lord Lovell. 
Scene 7 : — Sir Giles is completely discomfited by learning of 

Margaret's marriage to Allworth, and the loss of 

his deed. 
Scene 8: — The conclusion of the Action. 



CHAPTER XL 



THE SCENARIO. 

There are certain external symptoms of a drama that may 
be seen at a glance and which are known to everybody. 
But mere information of this kind is very superficial and 
does not necessarily imply any definite or real knowledge 
of the art of playwriting at all. One may know that a play 
occupying an entire evening in performance is divided into 
Acts and into Scenes of locality, but he might be absolutely 
ignorant of the principles governing these divisions. The 
principle of Scenery will be discussed under its own head. 
The set scenes are assigned to the Acts very early in the 
formative process, selected with reference to the Action 
as the proper places for the happenings and also with a view 
to giving external characteristics. This choice is largely 
dictated by the Material, but a process of technical reason- 
ing is usually involved before they are fit. In "Ingomar" 
they are: 

Act. First. 

A Market Place in Massilia. 

Act Second. 

A Wood in Cevennes ; a camp of the Allemanni. 
Act Third. 

As before. 

Act Fourth. 

A path on the rocky eminence near Massilia. 
Act Fifth. 

Same as act first. 

The time of the Action has of course been decided upon, 
so that we now have time and place. These two things 
have now become matters of course in the working out of 
our play. They become a part of the Scenario. The Theme 
and the Proposition may be set down, and at the beginning 
of each act the object of the Act may be indicated, but the 



122 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

gist of a full Scenario, at this mechanical point, is con- 
tained in the Division into Scenes. We are speaking now 
of practical work. This Division into Scenes or Scenario 
should be committed to paper. It cannot be written down 
off hand. It might require many weeks and months of 
thought before you could definitely fix each scene and its 
Sequence and give to every detail of the Action that form 
which depends more or less upon all the principles, and, 
sometimes, absolutely and more particularly, on one princi- 
ple. It is not necessary to take up Scenario just now for 
minute discussion. We simply wish to call your attention 
to the methods of playwriting whereby the construction and 
mechanical part of a play is substantially reached and ef- 
fected with the completion of the Division into Scenes, 
which practically constitutes Scenario. The term Scenario 
is often loosely used; but the Scenario of a Division into 
Scenes is the scientific working Scenario for the intelligent 
dramatist. He might elaborate that Scenario. He might 
give that Scenario twice as many pages as the play itself 
will occupy. He might put into it many tentative ideas; 
it would still be a scenario. It would not be the kind of 
Scenario submitted to a manager. The manager would 
want only a succinct statement of the Action or Story. In 
this case something more should be given than the mere 
Plot, while all the effective Scenes should be indicated with 
sufficient fullness. At present let your only concern be the 
form of a working Scenario. 



CHAPTER XII. 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY- 

While we have, so far, gone a little beneath the suface, 
we have mainly considered the external formation of a 
drama. We have seen the framework and the reasons and 
necessities for the structure by means of a Proposition, a 
Plot and a Division into Acts and Scenes, and gained an 
idea of a Scenario (of the simplest sort). Incidentally you 
must have caught the idea of Unity — which is to be treated 
separately — and you have been really led up to Action, 
which is involved in all that has gone before, but which 
we were not ready to discuss, for we are getting at one 
thing at a time. You will understand it all better after 
mastering the present principle. Action does not primarily 
mean the physical movements of the actors in a play. 
That is a common mistake made by actors when they at- 
tempt to write a play, for they consider "Business" Action 
and the only Action that counts. These visible expressions 
of hopes, fears, emotions and relations often coincide with 
the Action, but may constitute a sort of Action which may 
be false, misleading or unnecessary. The real Action is 
confined to the rightful effects produced on the audience. 
In this way, what an actor may do causes the mind of the 
audience to act, and often to think of something in the de- 
velopment of things of which the character (actor) himself 
may be entirely unconscious. When a hidden assassin 
steps from behind a rock and raises his knife to plunge into 
the back of the "hero" of the play, let us say, the audience 
knows something that the intended victim does not know, 
and hope is aroused that the intended victim may escape. 
Will he turn around in time and see the man? Is he 
armed? Or we may know that he is armed and the assas- 
sin thinks he is not armed, we, again, knowing something 
that the man does not know. In its final analysis, then, the 



124 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE » 

Action depends upon the thoughts and emotions of the 
audience. It is very much like the old discussion whether, 
if a tree, the giant of the forest, fell, without a human, or 
any, ear, to hear it, would there be any sound? The waves 
of the air would have to strike upon some tympanum. 
Action, like the Plot, is the development of the Story, the 
statement or problem. You begin to get the Action in the 
Proposition and get closer to it as you proceed and make 
your Division in,to Acts and then into Scenes from the Plot. 
Your play begins to move; it crawls, then gets on its feet, 
and in production we see it in its fullness. Its characteristic 
is doubt as to the outcome of the matter in hand. Whether 
in Episode or in close connection with the Plot there must 
be Action always. It is the overcoming of some obstacle 
and, of course, our doubt. Our doubt is the final test. It is 
something in solution all the time. Again, it is Action if 
we see that something is to come of it. We will not discuss 
it to its fullest extent at this time, but we must examine all 
the plays in hand and take note of what Action is. A play 
without Action is impossible. It must always exist at the 
present moment. We have seen that the Action must be 
about some one definite thing, and we were preparing for 
Action when we reduced the play to one Proposition or 
Theme about which it was to be. The main Action is about 
that Proposition — the battle around the body of Patroclus. 
And now we see the importance of the Division into Acts 
and Scenes, for in each case the act has its main Action, that 
is, it must be about something that is of importance to the 
general Action in conveying it forward. A quarrel between 
two lovers is an Action, for it is about something, how- 
ever trivial it may be in its nature. Every discussion 
between people who misunderstand each other is Action. 
There is usually some misconstruction — some misunder- 
standing — some impediment — which may be within, just 
as it may be the bashfulness of a young man in trying to 
propose to his sweetheart, when the audience knows that 
she is eager to hear the word. Apply now to all plays that 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 1 25 

you may study the test throughout and see what Action 
is; see if it is not true, that the audience must see that 
something is to come of what is done before them ; if there 
is not doubt involved as to the issue, if the audience does 
not know something that some of the people engaged do 
not know. When the characters all know the same thing, 
when nothing remains to be done, and there is no longer 
any doubt as to the issue of the play, it is at an end ; and 
it is a beautiful part of the Art to keep the Action alive — 
to keep the ball in the air — to the last. The Action seems 
to come to an end in "Ingomar" at one point. Where? 
The Plot of a play, as appears in those we have made out, 
is a statement of the main Action in all its material parts; 
the Scenario, as we have suggested, it is the simplest form 
of a Scenario, which could be so amplified as to give such a 
detailed account of the Action that it would substantially 
include almost every movement by way of description ; but 
the full Action is only complete with the completion of the 
play, for it must be all Action, ever present and progressive 
to the end. In the Plot and Scenario of Ingomar we gave 
what is included in the second scene of the first act of the 
play. Now, read it, and you will see that the object of the 
scene was worked out by a conflict between the mother and 
daughter that requires two pages of discussion between 
them. If they both remained seated and held that con- 
versation it would still be Action, but, of course, animation 
and relief to the eye, variety and many other reasons re- 
quire them to change position, cross, rise, sit, &c, all con- 
tributing to the better understanding and appreciation of 
the feelings of the characters and of the progress of the 
Action. Notice the points made : The mother tells Parthe- 
nia that it is time for her to cease to be a child, that Polydor 
is rich and asks her hand ; we see by her manner that the 
subject surprises and annoys her; that she has rejected 
other lovers, and why? That she is worthy of love and 
beautiful ; the mother commends to her that love ; but 
Parthenia objects to letting her parents choose a husband 



126 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

for her; the girl explains that she will wait until her heart 
answers, because she has learned from her mother's lips 
the sanctity of love ; the mother tries to take back what she 
calls her own prattle and says Polydor is honorable; Par- 
thenia says No — he beats down her needy father; the 
mother defends Polydor; the girl begs to be permitted to 
work — to do anything but marry Polydor; she is sorry to 
make her mother angry; her mother reproaches her on 
account of her indifference to her father's struggles. She 
protests that he is always in her thoughts; and her mother 
leaves her, calling her an ungrateful and selfish child. 
There you see a constant state of vibration. You doubt 
what the girl will do; you hope she will escape Polydor; 
you sympathize with her; you feel with her regret at her 
mother's change of feeling toward her. The result of the 
scene causes the next scene, for in the next scene — which 
has detailed Action of mind in it — she resolves to do her 
"duty" as her mother sees it. The play is being developed 
by means of this Action, Cause and Effect, Cause and Effect, 
all bearing on the solution of the main problem. Action 
means change all the time. The relations of the characters 
are changing all the while, giving new intent to what they 
say to each other or what is done by them. When the bar- 
barians dispute one with another we fear for her safety 
and wonder how her fate will be settled; that is Action. 
When Ingomar takes her as his share of the booty we are 
not sure what he will do with her; that is Action; and 
when he tries to gratify his wild desire we are intent on 
the result. The scales are wavering and the Action is not 
over until the scales balance. Observe that Action does not 
need to be violent or explosive, for drama includes placid 
plays as well as the intensely melo-dramatic and tragic. 
But the Action must interest, must conform to the simple 
requirements described. What is said and done must cause 
the wheels to move. Note the scene in the second act 
where Parthenia describes love "as her mother says." 
What is that Action? Is the mere recital Action, as pretty 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 1 27 

as it is? No — we see that her artless talk is spinning a web 
around Ingomar, although she does not know it. If you 
think you detect scenes in which there is no Action seek 
for it. It is there. 

Make sure that you understand what Action is; find out 
how many points of Action there are in a given scene. 
Tell what doubts, emotions, &c, are aroused; get into the 
spirit of Action. 

From the point of view of craftsmanship, the Action is 
the execution or carrying out in detail of the Divisions 
which have been made — the scientific definition of Action 
being development of the Story in the minds of the audi- 
ence. Consequently, in a good play, all is Action; it is the 
final, rounded, detailed fruition, the actual living play, every 
moment of it, like the blood that courses in the veins, the 
heart beat which is not to cease for one moment. In "The 
Lady of Lyons" there is no lapse from Action, and 
consequently we can cite no instances of what is NOT 
Action. But our present purpose is mainly to discover 
what Action is and to become so familiar with it as to re- 
cognize its presence or its absence instantly. The Propo- 
sition, the Plot, the Division into Acts and Scenes indicate 
Action right along; the Action being provided for, but it 
becomes real, visible Action only when the characters set 
it in motion. The very first scene, although we have point- 
ed out little more in it than the exposition of the pride of 
Pauline and her mother and their expectation of a lofty 
marriage, is as truly Action as the scene wherein Claude 
tears up the papers, and throws down his purse to thwart 
Beauseant, in the last act. Pauline's wondering who sent 
her the flowers in the first scene is Action because it keeps 
alive the idea that she is courted and that she has a right 
and every reason to expect a brilliant marriage. When the 
maid alters the position of the rose in Pauline's hair it is 
Action ; because it concerns her pride, and, in particular, 
her beauty upon which is founded her hope of such mar- 
riage as she may select. The command to the maid to 



128 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

order the carriage is Action, for it shows the wealth that 
thinks itself entitled to rank, and because it has its bearing 
on that pride that will scorn the attention of the gardener's 
son ; Action, every word is instinct with Action. Beau- 
seant's resentment at being rejected is as much Action as 
his later resolve to be revenged. His confidence as he en- 
ters is as much Action as his surprise at Madam Deschap- 
pelles' saying that her husband would not interfere. "We 
shall always be happy to see you as an acquaintance" is as 
much Action as the actual refusal. It belongs there and is 
a part of the res gestae. The emotions are in a state of 
ebullition. The relations are constantly changing, — Ac- 
tion. When Damas asks Pauline if she has recovered from 
last night's ball and remarks that her triumph may be 
fatiguing, it is Action, for it concerns the very matter of 
her pride and right to think she can select from her many 
suitors. When Damas suggests that perhaps they are look- 
ing to an alliance with Beauseant, when we already know 
what has happened and Damas does not, could you want 
a better illustration of Action? Action also concerns what 
is to come, what the audience surmises ; but there is also 
another Action to be described as Reflex Action ; and here 
we have it, in that the scene of Beauseant's rejection pre- 
sents itself in a flash to the minds of the audience. The very 
greeting, " Cousin Deschappelles," is Action, for we see a 
possible influence on the part of Damas as an adviser. But 
Action is a larger question than it is designed to fully 
cover here. With this indication of the abounding and 
ramifying nature of the Action, and reminding the student 
of the Action pointed out under the Division into Scenes, 
we reserve fuller discussion to the sections of our study 
on play construction and the philosophy of the principles. 
One thing at a time. For the present discover what the 
Action is in these plays, adding it to the examples that 
we have given. It may require volumes to indicate and 
explain every particle of Action in these plays. If you are 
a real student you will exercise your mind in the matter 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 120, 

and supplement what is here given. The principle has 
been pointed out to you. See to its application in Detail. 

In a successful and artistic play like "Camille" in which 
the Action is correct in every detail, it is not profitable to 
seek examples of the absence of Action. Consequently, 
the only form of exercise on the negation of the principle 
in this play is to convert Action into Inaction. This we 
shall do without directing our attention particularly to the 
Action which is included and suggested in the Proposi- 
tion, the Plot and the Division into Acts. We shall treat 
of them incidentally and concern ourselves mainly with 
that Action which is within the scenes themselves. Speak- 
ing generally, the Action may be destroyed in many ways : 
by wrong Sequence, Story, lack of Cause and Effect, lack 
of Preparation, or by the non use or misuse of any one of 
the principles. 

If at the rise of the curtain Nanine and Varville chat- 
tered on indifferent subjects and had not confined them- 
selves to the one fact that Varville was waiting for Ca- 
mille; if Nichette called for the bundle, leaving the impres- 
sion that it was a matter of importance, from which we 
were to expect something; and if Varville and Nanine had 
discussed Camille on general principles, as a matter of gos- 
sip, without reference to Varville's suit, the Action would 
be imperfect, if not altogether entirely lacking. The inter- 
est would have been too languid. Interest is almost a 
synonym of Action.' As introductory talk the scenes might 
have contained a mild kind of Action so far as the audience 
was concerned, but do you not see that they might have 
talked of many things of great interest to themselves but 
of none whatever to the audience? If Camille, on her re- 
turn, had treated Varville politely, and if he had then pre- 
ferred his suit and she had smilingly put him off for his 
answer, there would have been lack of Action because of 
its aimlessness. There are innumerable ways of making a 
scene insufferably tame. In this play the Action has been 
9 



130 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

built up from the very beginning in the structure, and it 
only remained to make the scene Action effective. There 
are a great many possible ways of doing a thing wrong 
and undramatically, and the amateur will do the wrong 
thing ninety times in a hundred opportunities. He em- 
braces false methods with alacrity because they are conven- 
ient. If Armand had been introduced into the house with- 
out the information that he loved Camille to madness there 
would have been no Action to speak of. If Camille had not 
been drawn to Armand by the reference to his sister, and 
the conversation not have been overheard by her, the point 
of the scene would have been lost. The fact as to the sis- 
ter would have remained, but it would not have been 
Action. The fact that Armand's father is a "gruff," crusty 
old gentleman comes into the Action later on, and is 
necessary to the gradation here of the Dialogue, but the 
immediate Action is the sister used in the way it is. If 
Armand had engaged in the frivolities of the supper talk, 
whereby Camille would have observed that he was not 
different from the other men, the scene would be absolutely 
without Action and tedious to a degree. It may be said 
that no one would have written these scenes in the wrong 
way and without these points. Preposterous ! No ama- 
teur would have constructed it in the masterly fashion of 
Dumas. Let us assume that he would have had the scene 
between Armand and Camille in which he tells her of his 
love. Even so, the scene would not have its proper basis 
to rest on. Destroying previous scenes we destroy the 
effect of a given scene. If Camille had not seen that 
Armand was different from the others, his talk would 
hardly have convinced her or the audience. We want to 
get full effects. Half a loaf in the drama is generally worth 
less than no loaf at all M Of what use is half a yard of cloth 
when you need a full yard? If Camille had doubted Arm- 
and's love, or had not been touched by it and had laughed 
at him, the scene would not have had any value. She might 
have done all these things — in some other play. In this 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 

play everything is done with reference to something at 
issue. What would be Action in one play is not necessarily 
Action in another. Let Camille accept Armand's Propo- 
sition in this scene, let her not send him away unsatisfied, 
and the charm of the scene (interest again) or its true 
Action in another. Let Camille accept Armand's p^opo- 
Camille and Armand in the Second Act take out the fact 
that Camille is to use the money sent to her by the Due de 
Meuriac, which is unknown to Armand, and the fact that 
Armand's point of view is loftier than hers, the value of 
the scene would be lost, and while their Dialogue might 
have been prolonged it would have been largely a repeti- 
tion and would have destroyed the future Action. There 
would have been no development in the spirituality of 
Camille, not to speak of the utterly inconsistent character 
of Armand. Take out the secret opposition of Camille to 
Armand's plans and the open opposition of Armand to 
Camille's plans, as he suspects and finally learns them, 
there would be no constant progress of the Action. Let 
them both agree, the tides meet and the Action becomes 
slack and without current. The remaining scenes in the 
act could only be changed into Inaction by departing from 
the Plot and the proper object of the scenes. The scene 
between Camille, Gustave and Nichette would be converted 
into Inaction if they talked only of the affairs of Nichette 
and Gustave. In the great scene between Camille and 
Armand's father the Action would be destroyed if she 
accepted a money compensation from the father. In the 
scene between Camille and Armand there would be no 
Action if he suspected that his father had talked with her 
and, therefore, had reason to believe that the note which 
he does not secure from her was one of farewell. Of course, 
a scene with Action in it might be written including those 
two points, but not this particular scene in this particular 
play. We wish to show conclusively that a scene must be 
written according to the specifications of the scene, and 
that nothing must be left to chance, else the fly may and 



132 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

will creep into the ointment. If you are writing at random 
why could you not have Armand suspect that his father 
had talked with Camille and separated them? Without a 
plan involving every object of a scene you may not go 
astray all the time, but you will do so often enough to 
ruin the Action. The Action of the fourth act is so com- 
pact that it would be profitless to speculate with it. The 
Action of the last act would be impaired if not destroyed 
if we introduced at the beginning of it that Camille was 
momentarily expecting the arrival of Armand or if we 
could keep out of it the hope of the audience that he would 
return. 

In making out the Plot we provide for the Plot Action, 
and carry out the Action still further by means of the ar- 
rangement of the Action of the scenes as scenes. Of course, 
all this tends to a practical and consistent result, but it is 
the theoretical Action of the play until the Action in each 
moment of the play develops scene and act, unfolding and 
demonstrating each division, until a complete, inclusive 
whole is formed and everything resolves itself into the Pro- 
position. You get back to your starting point. Q. E. D. 
We designate and treat a principle in our formulation of 
the science and art according to its greatest power and 
radiating activity. 

The audience does not see Plot except as it is unfolded 
and accomplished. Action must be seen and felt all the 
time. We have examined the nature of Action and know 
something of its elements. The safest general test of Ac- 
tion is, Does it interest? If you witness or have read to- 
you a scene, and it does not interest you, you may be sure 
that there is something wrong with the Action. That is 
enough. There is no need to try such final tests, if we may 
so illustrate it, as a mirror suspended over the mouth of 
your character to catch a possible vapor of breath, or hold 
its fingers to the candle light to see if the red corpuscles of 
the blood are in slight circulation. Don't waste any refine- 
ments of logic over it. It does not interest, hence there is. 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 1 33 

no Action of a kind to satisfy the drama. There must be 
Action, and it must interest at every moment of the play, 
and always interest with reference to the Action of the play ; 
mere local Action or excitation or interest is not really 
worth a pin head. Is it not important then, to consider 
Action with reference to this quality? In analyzing "Still 
Waters Run Deep" have we not already disposed of the 
Action of the Plot, and of the scenes as scenes? Are we 
not, then, ready to continue our dissection to the filaments 
and smallest nerves? Let us examine the Action of the 
play from this point of view. 

The curtain rises upon a scene that is obviously one of 
a family fireside. The first six speeches apprise us who 
the principals are, their relations and state of mind toward 
each other. You are at once in possession of enough in- 
formation to have your interest and curiosity excited. 
Forthwith we see that the wife, the aunt and the father- 
in-law agree in holding that a man who prefers "Auld 
Robin Gray" to "Beethoven" "has no soul for music." 
Potter even adds that he has no soul "for anything." 
Wouldn't this rile you? What is Mildmay going to do 
about it? Surely, at least, here is a promising state of 
affairs. We appreciate Mildmay's self-restraint. There is 
Action in his reply: "Very well." We sympathize with 
him when he suggests to his wife a quiet little dinner at 
Richmond tomorrow, and it is a new and interesting de- 
velopment when his amiable suggestion is not entertained, 
on account of the aunt's dinner. Oh, ho, Mildmay, you 
are in a hard way if the aunt who has probably raised 
Emily from a bottle is really the head of the house ! What 
in the world did you ever let your wife's aunt and your 
father-in-law come into the house to live with you for, 
Mildmay? What's the use? Hasn't Mrs. Sternhold said 
that she certainly expected her to dine with them? and did 
not Emily nod approvingly, and did not old Potter blow 
his nose on his bandana at this moment in a most exasper- 
ating way, not from any necessity, but as a token of en- 



134 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

couragement to the women, as you well know? You are 
not going to have any music. Oh, get up and go out ! And 
go out he does to earth up the celery. He can't do anything 
to please his wife, it is plain. She has driven him off, and 
lays all the blame on the vegetables. But Mildmay will 
stay if she wants him to do so. Emily, bless you, doesn't 
care whether he stays or not. And Mrs. Sternhold attacks 
him in the rear with the aggravating statement that his 
wife "would be the last person to thwart your wishes." 
The illogical old cat! He doesn't know what to do. He 
settles down on the sofa. The man has tried his best to 
be agreeable, and he makes it worse. The aunt requests 
music. Oh, yes, Emily'll play for Auntie. What? Oh, 
any thing, old thing or new thing. This is Action, reflex 
Action, present Action, facing backwards and forwards. 
Mrs, Mildmay is nagging at Mildmay whether he is awake 
or asleep. We begin to see what a prosaic fellow Mildmay 
is. He works in the garden all day. The fact that comes 
out that they have been married only a year is Action in 
the circumstances. Mrs. Sternhold pokes up the fire of con- 
tention and sends a constant chain of sparks flying up 
the domestic chimney. It is Action when Mrs. Sternhold 
ADMITS that Mildmay is stupid, but says that he can be 
managed, having no will of his own. Somehow, we doubt 
it. We feel sure that the poor worm is going to turn in 
good time. This entire scene has been establishing the 
premises of the Action. It was all about something. If we 
knew what was coming, why Mildmay was going to Man- 
chester, we might say that we heard the first click of the 
Plot Action in his announcement that he was going to 
Manchester that night. But we do distinctly hear a click 
of the Plot Action in Mrs. Mildmay's comparing her hus- 
band with Hawksley. Now we understand what is the 
matter with you, you silly creature. The Plot Action 
clicks again when we learn that Hawksley has enough in- 
fluence with Mrs. Sternhold to have her urge her brother 
to invest in his schemes. The minor Action is kept up all 



the: action of a play 135 

the time in developing the character of Mrs. Sternhold. 
The bare facts are Action and interest us. Hawksley has 
been a suitor for Emily's hand. There is danger, Emily. 
Even Potter thinks so, and gives very good reasons for so 
thinking; and we agree with him. We hardly suspect that 
Mrs. Sternhold is in love with Hawksley herself, although 
it is well enough if it is a slight impression, but there is 
enough to occupy us in our apprehensions for Emily. There 
is business on hand, in any event. We suspected that Pot- 
ter knew what he was talking about ; now we know it. 
Hawksley is more of a rascal than we thought. He is 
taking advantage of the romanticism of a silly woman. 
Every line of the interview is full of Action. Hawksley 
learns that Mildmay is going out of town. We hope he 
isn't. But, in any event, we want to see this matter de- 
veloped. The scene has Action enough of its own, but it 
is rendered more intense by our knowledge that Mrs. 
Sternhold is behind the screen and listening to it all. Now 
we know that he has been trifling with the mature Mrs. 
Sternhold. It will be an interesting scene when they meet. 
We are thinking of Mildmay all the time, too. But we are 
sure that Mrs. Sternhold is going to settle this business 
with Hawksley in person. Mildmay isn't off yet, but he 
is going. He overhears the negotiations between Hawk- 
sley and Potter while he is on the ladder painting the 
trellis. We now see that he is in possession of the facts 
as to Hawksley's financial schemes. We know that Potter 
is going to refer the matter to Mrs. Sternhold, and we know 
her state of mind. Will she advise against it now? What 
will be the outcome of the interview which we are looking 
forward to with such interest. A double interest is in it 
now. Hawksley delivers the letter which makes Mildmay 's 
trip to Manchester unnecessary ; so then he will be at home 
when Hawksley attempts to visit Mrs. Mildmay after all 
have retired. The Action as to Mildmay is rather exas- 
perating, but still it moves. The scene between Emily 
and Mrs. Sternhold is good Action ; that between Mrs. 



I36 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Sternhold and Hawksley is peppery with it. If we were 
not sure that Mildmay is playing his game and that his 
information about Hawksley restrains him from interfer- 
ing at this moment, we should expect him to interrupt the 
interview. The countercheck by Hawksley with the threat 
as to the compromising letters gives a sharp turn to the 
Action here. We know now that Hawksley will not return 
that night, for Mrs. Sternhold has intercepted the inter- 
view he had planned; consequently when Mildmay sur- 
prises his wife on her return to the room we are prepared 
for his reticence and his simulated pursuit of the burglar. 
The act closes with a state of affairs, everything in solu- 
tion, and prepares for Mildmay's movement against Hawk- 
sley. The Action was only possible by reason of the de- 
velopment of the Plot. All this was arranged before the 
dialogue was written; the Action followed naturally. Mrs, 
Sternhold has been checkmated to the extent that she 
cannot prevent the investments. It is necessary for Mild- 
may to get the shares in his possession. He does this. We 
know his purpose, without seeing the exact means by 
which he will force Hawksley to terms. The talk between 
Hawksley and Dunbilk is Action, for we see plainly the 
rascally nature of his schemes and his immediate necessity 
for cash. He is expecting Mildmay with money to invest. 
How is Mildmay going to defeat him? We are interested 
in Hawksley's argument about the value of the shares be- 
cause we know that Mildmay is not going to invest or be 
duped and we wish to see his next move. We feel that 
Hawksley's confident glibness will lead to nothing but his 
own discomfiture. We know something that he does not 
know. The Action becomes rapid, new points coming 
quick and fast, the apparent advantage now on this side, 
then on the other. The whole matter would come to an 
end with this transaction if we knew positively that Mild- 
may knew of or had in his possession the second forged 
bill. In point of fact, Mildmay has not got it yet. We have 
the perspective of Hawksley's going to dinner tomorrow 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY l$7 

with the design of humiliating Mildmay before his own 
family and regaining his control. The Action of the Plot 
is sustained to the last by means of the Action of the 
moment. 

Destroy the Plot or impair the Plot and you destroy the 
Action in the scenes and in the details of the moment, or 
you impair them. Action is referable back to Proposition 
and Plot. Complete Action is dominated by them. We 
have seen how Sequence and Cause and Effect are the 
absolute requirements and characteristics of Plot, so that if 
you get them out of order there can be no effective Action 
in the scenes. The object of the first scene was mainly to 
show that Mildmay was henpecked and without authority. 
Devote the first scene to a discussion of Hawksley and 
follow it with a scene showing that Mildmay was hen- 
pecked and the interest would be gone. If it had not been 
shown first that Mrs. Sternhold was dominant in the house 
and that Potter deferred to her, and that the investment 
depended upon her, the interview between Hawksley and 
Mrs. Sternhold would have lost the material part of its 
Action. If it were not Self-explanatory why Mildmay ex- 
ercised his policy of "laissez faire," our interest would not 
follow his movements. The very same scenes and ideas in 
a different arrangement would make the whole vapid. If 
discussion of Hawksley, particularly as to his financial 
schemes, had been introduced in the first scene, the oppor- 
tunity itself to show the relations in the household would 
have been lost. It would have been on a different key. It 
would have been about something else, and might have 
been Action, but not of the right kind. Mere Action is 
nothing. If the first scene had not been objective and had 
been devoted to an abstract talk about Mildmay's charac- 
ter, his gardening and his prosaic ways and habits of 
thought, the Action would have been slow and dreary. We 
dwell on this first scene because it is a fine example of 
minute Action about One thing, its minuteness being made 
possible only because it is about one thing. Variety under 



138 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

one main object in a scene is drama; variety under two 
or three main or equal objects is impossible and is not 
drama. There is no better example of minor Action than 
this scene. 

We started out to show the Action of the moment, that 
Action must exist in every syllable. The Action of Plot 
might be destroyed by the absence, among other things, of 
the Unexpected. Let us apply that principle to the mo- 
ment. Suppose Mrs. Sternhold had let the audience know 
before she began her interview with Hawksley that he had 
thirteen compromising letters from her. The dialogue 
would have been very tame when he countered on her by 
threatening her with them. 

There are many good examples in this play of Action im- 
plied rather than expressed. This may be noted in the 
scene between Mildmay and Mrs. Sternhold in the second 
act. She seems to make up her mind to confide in Mild- 
may and see if she can "inspire his sluggish nature with 
one spark of chivalry or sentiment." We are all interest, 
for we know that it is a dangerous secret and that she dis- 
trusts the courage of Mildmay. Will she disclose the se- 
cret and ask him to defend her? Mildmay answers that 
if a man has insulted her he would do the right thing, of 
course. "Might I trouble you for the sugar basin?" We see 
at once that he has made up his mind to take his own 
course. He knows the secret, and he does not invite confi- 
dence. We know that he is going to take care of the case 
in his own way. "Butter, please." We soon see that she 
wants him to fight Hawksley on general principles and is 
not anxious to reveal her secret. She does not even tell 
by whom she has been insulted, and we know why he does 
not enquire as to the name of the offender. "I see ; a lady 
has been insulted, and she wishes me to insist on gentle- 
manly satisfaction on her account." He then reminds her 
of the opinion she expressed of him as he was lying on the 
sofa. She does not remember saying it. Action, for we 
know that she did say it. He then lays down a little do- 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY 1 39 

mestic law to her, and she leaves indignant. It is going to 
be a surprise to her when Mildmay turns over the letters to 
her. If Mildmay has a hold on Hawksley he is going to 
get those letters ; we feel sure of that. Potter enters. "Well, 
Mildmay, have you settled matters with my sister?" "Well, 
I think I have pretty well; it was about these shares of 
Hawksley's." We know how well he has settled matters 
with Mrs. Sternhold, and also that their talk has not been 
about Hawksley's shares. Fine Action, Action down to the 
last syllable. Potter doesn't know. We do. It would have 
been very tame Action indeed if Mrs. S. had told Mildmay 
of Hawksley's threat and his possession of the letters, and 
he had assured her that he intended to get them back for 
her. It would have destroyed the future scene in which he 
returns them to her, converting it, at least, to mere acted 
Story. In all these scenes something is left in solution by 
means of doubt, opposition, hope, sympathy, insight into 
character and all the elements of Action available. 

In "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" Massinger, 
having in his mind all the potentialities of his mate- 
rial, sought to present it in the most active, effective, 
and interesting manner. He had to reduce it, in all its parts, 
to dramatic shape. Action may have a great many differ- 
ent forms. When we see a tramp refused drink it may 
be the beginning of many kinds of subsequent Action, and, 
in America, the only country which makes the tramp a 
staple article of humor, we would expect comedy. The 
very minute Wellborn changes his manner toward Tapwell 
and Froth a very definite Action begins. "Verity, you 
brache ! the devil turned precisian! rogue, what am I?" 
We are surprised at this turn of affairs, at his spirit, and it 
is plain that the man in tattered apparel asking for drink 
is no common person. But he is in extremities, and we do 
not yet know who is in the right or wrong. Tapwell seems 
confident enough when he threatens the tramp with the 
constable. What right has Wellborn to such anger? Our 
curiosity is answered when we hear the statement that he 



140 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

had given the inn to Tapwell. Tapwell does not directly 
admit it, and we do not know the details; we would like 
to hear more before determining our sympathies. The situ- 
ation makes the dialogue and the recital exceedingly inter- 
esting. As we listen we see that what Tapwell says is the 
truth ; we also note that Wellborn interrupts him but once 
or twice, but we see his varying emotions and finally that 
he is even amused at the unaccustomed facility of speech 
of the tapster. All the facts have a bearing on the present 
moment of the action and interest in themselves and with 
reference to other things. Beginning without any sympa- 
thy with Wellborn, and agreeing that he has reached his 
degradation by his own fault, we are entirely on his side 
in his quarrel with Tapwell when we understand all the 
circumstances. Every quarrel is ,an Action; we want to 
know the matter at issue iFwe are witnesses of it. Life is 
made up of right and wrong, and wherever it is involved we 
stop, even, if it is on a street corner, and listen. This scene, 
then, is full of Action. We heartily assent to every blow 
that Wellborn gives the ingrate. True, Tapwell is not worth 
his anger, and when Allworth appears and causes him to 
desist, the Action of the quarrel is brought to "an end. It 
has had a completeness in itself. We have shown how 
friendless Wellborn is, and now it is a new Action when 
we find that he has a friend in a young gentleman of evi- 
dent prosperity. The facts that are brought out in the 
talk between the two were not needed for the first scene 
any more than the fact which we get in the second act that 
Tapwell was acting on the orders of Marrall, under instruc- 
tions from Sir Giles. In the talk between Wellborn and 
Allworth there is none of that movement and physical 
activity which some people confuse with Action proper. 
The upshot of it is that Wellborn refuses all aid and will 
retrieve his fortunes in his own way. That is a consid- 
erable advance from the point where we saw him demand- 
ing drink. We are entirely on his side by this time. We 
have been getting new facts and new developments all the 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY I4I 

time. Everything has been in a state of evolution, par- 
ticularly our feeling toward Wellborn. The young lover, 
too, is in trouble, and Wellborn is compelled to give him 
good advice. Observe that the Action is confined to the 
advice to abandon all thought of Margaret, and Allworth's 
acquiescence in it. That is to say, we expect nothing more 
from a thing that is really to become a material part of the 
later Action. The immediate Action was to develop the 
character of Wellborn, his relations with other characters 
and the justice of his opinion of Sir Giles. It is all inter- 
esting and pertinent, and therefore Action. There has been 
little or no Plot Action so far, but the Plot of the first set 
scene has been carried out admirably. Wellborn will re- 
trieve himself. Imagine the introduction of the many addi- 
tional facts that might have been talked about between 
Tapwell and Wellborn, and you will see at once that the 
Action would have been so diluted as to have lost all 
interest. The slightest elaboration of the dialogue even on 
its present lines would have impaired the Action, or even, 
in a manner, defeated it. If they had talked of Marrall's in- 
structions, that would have led to some account of that 
person and of the methods of Sir Giles ; all of which 
would have been premature and have taken away our 
attention from the one main purpose of the scene. There 
is no Plot Action discernible in the scene between the ser- 
vants in the hall at Lady Allworth's. How futile, then, to 
attempt to make all Action Plot Action, for, surely, this is 
a most interesting scene and full of minor Action. It is 
complete in itself, and it had to be, for its most important 
uses are for subsequent scenes and later Action. Lady 
Allworth's advice to her step-son to shun Wellborn is 
merely incidental to her interest in him, but instinct with 
Action, for it makes us much doubt the success of the hap- 
less Wellborn when he sets in motion his plans to rehabili- 
tate himself. The scorn of the servants, and this further 
obstacle of the expressed resolve of Lady Allworth to listen 
to no representations on behalf of Wellborn add doubt and 



142 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

every element of strong Action. Everything that goes to 
show the character and state of this Lady Bountiful is Ac- 
tion and not mere Life, for it would seem to make her ad- 
amantine in her austere morals, presenting a hopeless front 
to Wellborn. She is a person of authority and order. 
When she tells Tabitha and Abigail to "sort those silks 
well/' the thing of real importance is not the silks, but as 
we have indicated. Observe the brevity of such incidents. 
The very minute you attempt to depict character beyond the 
Action involved and implied the force of the Action abates^ 
It is a bit of color, a single stroke of the brush by the true 
artist. If the servants had merely talked of the seclusion 
of their mistress, and if the Action of the quarrel between 
them had not been used, how monotonous would have 
been the reiterated talk about her refusing to see any one. 
Here we realize the value of minor Action as distinguished 
from Plot Action. If Wellborn had told his friend that he 
intended to visit Lady Allworth, Tom would have an- 
nounced the intention to Lady Allworth, and, in that event, 
the Action of the scene in which she counsels him against 
Wellborn would have been different and the dialogue some- 
thing else. We had almost forgotten Wellborn, but now 
that we see him utterly friendless we wonder what he is 
going to do. There is an immediate connection. If Lady 
Allworth and Tom talked exclusively about Lord Lovell, 
and she had given him her advice on general principles 
there would have still been character, the Material of the 
play would have been wrongly used, and the Action would 
not have stirred it. Add Action to Character and it becomes 
exceedingly interesting. It is possible that a modern play- 
wright would have the Plot Action more constantly and 
visibly in motion. He might have regarded Wellborn's 
contemplated visit as a part of the Plot Action or at least 
one of the turns in the Action which should be placed in 
view earlier in this scene. But as it is we are so interested 
in all that she says, the Action as to Wellborn comes in 
exactly the right place. Her warning against the spend- 



THE) ACTION OF A PLAY 1 43 

thrift who had forfeited respect and friendship is more in- 
teresting than her general advice, and would have swallowed 
it up if it had been placed first; it is in its proper Sequence 
and leads up to the Action proper. Moreover, there is 
Action in our feeling that the foundations are being laid, 
and that something must come of these relations indicated. 
Tom does not say one word about Wellborn. What his 
step-mother says "is to him an oracle." How much more 
delicate and yet substantial this is than if there had been 
a striving after Plot Action or complication. When Sir- 
Giles comes on with Marrall and Justice Greedy we have a 
full abundance of minor Action again. It is Action be- 
cause it has a completeness of its own and is interesting. 
The scene is there for technical purposes in order to have 
Wellborn spurned by his uncle. If you had placed the 
Action in the knowledge on the part of the audience that 
Wellborn was coming in a minute, what interest could 
there have been in Greedy? Greedy is to serve a future 
and a constant purpose, in addition to the humor he pro- 
vides, and the scene pays for itself. The Action must not 
be an accidental thing, and simply because it is Action does 
not save the case; it must be the right Action. Massinger 
is looking out for the future, too. Lady Allworth, we see, 
will admit no one, not even her neighbor, Sir Giles. That 
is a point that counts and makes the visit of Sir Giles 
Action and worth the while. From the time Wellborn 
enters to the close of the Act there is not a word that is 
not Action. There is a constant vibration of emotion, of 
doubts, of chances, of everything that makes Action. Ac- 
tion is a constant changing of the molecules until a new 
form is reached. It begins here with apparent hopelessness 
in an object to be gained, and ends with complete triumph. 
It had to go through many states to reach it. In the open- 
ing scene of the second act we have plenty of Action, gen- 
eral in its nature at first, but soon coming to a specific 
relation to Wellborn. It would be very weak Action if we 
did not first have proof of the character of Marrall and of 



144 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

the methods of Sir Giles. This is a wonderful play; there is 
a phosphorescent glow of Character Action in it every- 
where. It is a play with a somewhat complicated Plot, 
and yet it is preponderatingly a character play. The Plot 
Action is directly at work when we know that Marrall is 
to seek the ruin of Wellborn; and now he comes on. Is 
there not plenty of Action in the scene between Marrall 
and Wellborn? It has great excellence in its treatment. 
It is full of detail. It is only at the end of the scene that 
Wellborn announces that it is to Lady Allworth's that he 
invites Marrall to dine. How beautifully it is led up to. 
The scene at Lady Allworth's and the following one, end- 
ing the act, advance the Plot Action rapidly. It is much 
more rapid than the scenes in the second part of the first 
act up to the time of the entrance of Wellborn, for there 
the Plot Action really begins in earnest. Now we see the 
outlines of the play; the minor Action has carried it well 
and almost alone, but now the Plot Action is strengthened 
and illuminated with the details of the minor Action also. 
You can see the footprints of the Plot. It is good Action 
at the close of the second act when we see that Sir Giles 
discredits Marrall's story and beats him for his supposed 
lies. We know that Marrall has told the truth. That alone 
goes far to constitute Action. It is not so much that we 
anticipate the result of Marrall's resentment. We may or 
may not suspect that it will have something to do with 
the Plot. Marrall's aside gives a little promise on which 
to hang some expectation, but we are particularly inter- 
ested in what will be the effect on Sir Giles of his discovery 
of the truth. Will he be duped as Marrall has been? With 
the third act begins a new development in the Plot Action, 
Allworth's plan to get Margaret with the assistance of 
Lord Lovell. ^The Action of the scene may be measured 
always by the object of the scene. The Action, then, in the 
scene between Lovell and Allworth is perfect, full of vi- 
bration and accomplishing some definite progress in the 
general Action. We are now so well committed to a visible 



THE ACTION OF A PLAY I45 

Plot that its progress cannot fail to interest us, and Mas- 
singer holds our constant attention. We may have doubted 
some of the earlier Action, some of the Dialogue, before all 
the issues had been joined, but after the Action of the Plot 
is once in motion, and to the end of the play, there can be 
no disputing its effectiveness. 



ro 



CHAPTER XIII. 



UNITY. 

Dramatic Unitly is the conformation of Proposition, Plot 
and Action. 

You must have perceived by this time that a law of Unity 
runs through a play, each principle in a play and each part 
of a play being distinct in itself, but with relations to the 
other principles and parts. At the very outset the Theme 
demanded Unity. You considered the Proposition and saw 
that it must be ONE thing, one definite thing, so that when 
asked what your play was about you could reply briefly 
and would not wander off into a multitude of Details. You 
saw that each act was about one thing, each scene about 
one thing, and that each step was a development toward 
one given end. Following this out, you have seen that a 
play is a Unit made up of many other Units. The characters 
themselves are units, consistent in themselves. Unity, then, 
is the cohesive force. It means that a play must have its 
centre of gravity, the centre of a circle, with the Theme at 
its circumference. Technically, dramatic Unity is the con- 
formation of Proposition, Plot and Action. It is suscepti- 
ble of scientific proof, by means of this law. If you will 
now refer to the first chapter of "The Technique" you will 
find that part of the very definition of a drama which defines 
or implies Unity. Aristotle's fragment of the art of the 
drama is wonderfully clear, as far as it goes, and his defini- 
tion of the drama, slightly added to in "The Technique/' 
really comprehends the whole art. Ponder that definition 
well. It cannot be understood at once. It does not involve, 
on the surface, many things which will have to be learned 
through toil and experience. But in the words "a com- 
plete Action" you have a test of Unity, a constant monitor 
and a safe guide. You are now to make a close, careful 
and repeated study of everything contained in these pages 



UNITY 147 

and to apply the principles to plays, by way of analysis, in 
order to confirm you in a religious belief in and acceptance 
of the principles. Not to accept Unity is to remain a pagan, 
in other words, an amateur and believe in many gods and 
not to be a wise and creative artist and believe in only 
ONE ! We will not go deeper into this subject now, for 
the illustrations are sufficient, and you will find the actual 
thing itself in examining not only these plays, but all good 
and successful plays ever written. It is the general princi- 
ple that you are to understand at first. To apply that prin- 
ciple is not always easy. Man is prone to evil, and you 
will at first find it hard to keep the faith, to stick to one 
thing, to reduce to Unity. But we have shown you that to 
reduce to Unity is absolutely essential as the first real step 
in thinking of your play, in considering the material, and 
in getting it into shape. You may find that you may often 
have to reject much, much that may seem precious to you, 
in order to bring about Unity. You are not through with 
Unity until you finish the play. It is not settled by obtain- 
ing any one Unity, for there are many Unities to consult. 
Does your play have a Beginning, a Middle and an End? 
It cannot begin nowhere and end nowhere, nor can it begin 
somewhere and end nowhere or at a somewhere that the 
Action did not start for. It is useless to say that this is 
obvious and implies an absurdity. Many plays, professional 
as well as amateur, accomplish this absurdity. This cannot 
well be illustrated from the plays that we are considering, 
but we shall reach work in which we will have to contend 
with this very tendency toward Disunity. In extending our 
examination to principles we shall encounter misapplied 
principle and shall find examples of what is not Unity. It is 
sufficient for the present to see wherein Unity consists 
and how it is secured. Faults of a minor kind may be dis- 
covered in these plays, but not faults of Disunity. We shall 
have much to do with the principle of Unity in our future 
work. It would seem to be a most simple and natural 
principle with every honest worker, but it is a very tech- 



I48 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

nical principle, and it is impossible for any one who does 
not understand it technically to be honest with himself, 
his subject or his public. 

We ascertain the Unity of "The Lady of Lyons" by 
noting that it has a definite and correct Proposition, that it 
has a Plot which develops and carries out this Proposition, 
the acts being so divided as to afford the proper point of 
progression, the scenes still further dividing it for the 
Action; Proposition, Plot and Scenes and Action being 
about one thing in their respective activities; the whole 
exemplifying Unity. The process is easy to see, the Unity 
first being secured by means of structure and then con- 
firmed at every step. Nothing is done that does not bear 
on the progressive and consistent development of the Ac- 
tion; all the happenings and all the characters having the 
proper consistency toward a given end. Without this 
Unity the play would not interest, and would not be suc- 
cessful. It is not a Unity in one thing only, but a Unity in 
all things. It is impossible to point out Disunity in a play 
like this, consequently, we can only see wherein the Unity 
consists. We might devise means whereby Disunity could 
be introduced. We can find Disunity in perfection in ama- 
teur plays. Amateurs are experts at it. It is obvious that 
if the Proposition, Plot and Action were not in conformity 
there would be no complete Unity. The Unity, then, must 
be specific and not merely general.' If it had only Unity 
of Theme, Love and Pride, it would not necessarily be a 
play at all. But, in working out the play, Bulwer could 
have departed from the Unity of his Theme, and introduced 
too much about the Revolution and war, and thus have 
destroyed the Unity at the very source of the play. He 
could have made it about one thing at the beginning, and 
about another thing at the end. This Unity has to be 
effected by the use of all the principles, else it would not 
be dramatic Unity, although it might be some other kind 
of Unity. We must get acquainted, then, with all the prin- 
ples and their combinations, whereby we shall learn that 



V 



UNITY 149 

Unity in its fullness and down to the last detail is influ- 
enced by the bearing- of one principle on another. 

"Camille" naturally has Unity of Theme, for Dumas was 
very much in earnest in his convictions and views of life 
and knew his subject thoroughly. But to be "all about" 
the Theme would not necessarily make it a play and cer- 
tainly would not necessarily impart that Unity of form 
which is essential in a play. Of course in a genuine drama 
the Theme takes care of the play and the play takes care 
of the Theme. Unity must exist, but if the play had only 
Unity of Theme as the one thing which it was about it 
might fall into an indefinite definite something or a definite 
indefinite something because of lack of form. The drama 
is definite throughout or nothing. The Unity of this play 
is proved by three things, above all, conformity of Propo- 
sition, Plot and Action. Wherever it has incidents of a 
casual kind and Episodes they are necessarily structural 
according to our rule of the nature of Action. Refer to 
the pages on Proposition and Plot and Action in "Camille" 
and you will find the Unity designated and proved. 

Any departure from the set Proposition would impair or 
destroy the Unity. The Proposition requires that Camille 
make the sacrifice of herself because of love for Armand : 
consequently, if she did not love Armand, but was mer- 
cenary when called on to make the sacrifice, and did it for a 
price ; or if she wanted to throw the responsibility on 
Armand, keep up appearances with Duval, and not really 
keep faith with Duval, and contrive to have Nanine ex- 
plain the situation to Armand, that would not have been in 
conformity with the Proposition and Plot at all. If the 
play did not have a single main proposition, with its sub- 
ordinate supplementary Proposition, with all the minor 
Propositions held in check, with the result that it had no 
main Proposition whatever, there could be no consistent 
progressive Action, which is one aspect of Unity. If it 
had several main or equal Propositions, all pulling in direc- 
tions more or less divergent, there would be no Unity. We 



150 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

could disintegrate the main Action or the Unity by assum- 
ing the following state of affairs required to be worked out 
in an Action : Camille and Olimpe will both try to cajole or 
dupe the rich Varville out of a large sum of money. Let 
Camille be really in love with Gaston and try to get him 
away from Nichette. Let Armand begin by loving Camille, 
but be gradually attracted to Nichette and finally marry 
her. Have Camille seek to convince Armand of her love 
and to make the sacrifice, believing that Armand will then 
surely marry her and rehabilitate her. You may say that 
this would lead to another play and that a Unity might 
be contrived out of it. Very true, but it proves that each 
play must have its own Unity and may reject any part 
of the Unity of another play even though the characters 
be nominally the same. Why, in this play, could not 
Olimpe try her wiles on Varville ? He is not really in love 
with Camille. You could devise any number of complica- 
tions, if complications in themselves made drama without 
regard to Unity. The characters, if permitted to do every- 
thing or anything they might do, would soon destroy Unity. 
In the supposed case above, the audience would be first 
interested in one Proposition and then in another, never 
holding to the ONE. You may say that this confusion 
could not have occurred with the Material of this play. 
Certainly not with Dumas; but an amateur could have 
brought it about. He does such things every day. In fact, 
if he does not understand the necessity and nature and 
value of Proposition he cannot avoid, except by accident, 
the commission of such cardinal sins. Olimpe would lead 
him astray in some way. The Unity of Theme held Dumas 
to truth. If you were writing the play and had no sincere 
appreciation of the Theme, or did not understand the 
Theme in its full significance, your play would not be the 
same play. We have elsewhere shown how the Unity of im- 
pression could be destroyed by converting the Action into 
Story. A wrong Sequence or Effects before Causes would 
have the same result. You might use exactly the same Mate- 



UNITY 151 

rial, but convey it in Story fashion, and you would effect a 
lack of dramatic Unity. As we proceed, the arrangement and 
management of treatment of the Material would decide the 
Dramatic Unity. We have said that the test of Unity is 
the conformity of Proposition, Plot and Action. Now, a 
Plot cannot exist without Cause and Effect in proper Se- 
quence. You might have all the parts of a watch, all the 
large and small wheels, but if you cannot put them to- 
gether so that they will fit into each other and form a 
working arrangement, w T here is your Unity? Does this 
statement sound academic to you or practical? As with 
a serviceable watch, so it is with a living play. Unity of 
character will be discussed under its proper head; but it 
may be observed that mere Unity of Character is not 
enough, for that Unity is governed by the Plot and the 
consequent function of the Character. We have selected 
Olimpe as the one character in the play which would in- 
vite an inexperienced author to a much larger use of it 
than Dumas has exercised. The first thing to get is the 
structural Unity, but the observance of the Unities is 
obligatory down to the last detail. You get things right 
at the start, and keep on getting them right. In other 
words, it may be said of Unity, as of every other principle, 
that we secure it first in the structure and by working from 
the general to the particular. Unity may be destroyed by 
a disobedience of any principle. Suppose we w r ere led to 
believe in the opening of the play that Varville's suit did 
thrive and soon discovered that it did not. The Unity of 
idea would be broken, would it not? A false Sequence 
would lead us to believe one thing and then inform us of 
the contrary, would it not? If we had not been straight- 
way told that Camille is indifferent to men, and if we had 
not heard the history which accounts for it, we might have 
formed any idea we chose as to her state of mind, and if 
an audience can have any number, if only two, possible 
ideas, there is no Unity in the mind of the audience, al- 
though the hidden facts may be perfectly consistent. It is 



152 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

hard work to imagine and contrive disunity in a play which 
has its Unity so marked as has "Camille." Our most 
profitable study would be with plays in which Unity is 
actually lacking- in Plot, Proposition, Character or what 
not. Still, as an exercise, we may essay some of this trans- 
lation of Unity into Disunity. Mark the point that we have 
made, that Unity depends upon the effect upon the audi- 
ence. You will remember that Action, in its last analysis, 
has been traced down to that final arbitration and test. 
Suppose we destroy the Unexpectedness of the coming of 
Duval. Wherein would the Unity be affected? If Camille 
or Armand had known that this ordeal was in store, the 
scene between the two lovers would have been impossible. 
If the audience had also known, it would have been im- 
possible ; there could have been no concentration of interest 
on previous scenes, and concentration of interest is in itself 
Unity. 

If a scene is uninteresting because the audience is inter- 
ested in something else, where is the Unity of attention? 
Let Camille and Armand both join in the gayety of the 
supper, and the Unity would be broken. There is no Unity 
in a broken chain. 

The Unity of "Still Waters Run Deep," like that of any 
other play and of all plays, is determined by its Proposition, 
Plot and Action. We have seen that Proposition and Plot 
may be given in a few words. To merely describe or give 
an outline of the Action requires many words, and to carry 
out the Action requires every word in the play. It may not 
be an exact illustration, but it is practically the case, that 
the Proposition stands in the background, like a point in 
the horizon which remains stationary as you speed along; 
the Plot is in the middle distance, where the developments 
afford changing pictures, and the Action is in the imme- 
diate foreground, changing every moment. The most sig- 
nificant thing about the dramatic is FORM, not intensity. 
And so with Unity, it depends more upon FORM than it 
does upon the prevalence of any one element; in other 



UNITY 153 

words, it is the union, the oneness, of all the elements. 
Structural Unity a play must have. Our work has accus- 
tomed us to the method of obtaining structural Unity in 
that we divide the Plot into Acts and Scenes. The Scenario 
establishes the details of that structure. Unity of character 
or of anything else helps not a whit if this structural Unity 
is lacking. Unity of Theme is a mere illusion, form lack- 
ing. The Unity of Story, in the sense of a novel or narra- 
tive, avails nothing. There must be form, dramatic FORM. 
The further we go back the more fatal a defect is as to 
Unity. One mistake in the Proposition is more destructive 
than a hundred small ones in the Action ; and that one mis- 
take breeds myriads of mistakes, like some fast-spreading, 
deadly microbe. It is the germ of iniquity and the source 
of putrefaction. In calculating distances in astronomy the 
angles and lines used, are called a parallax. It is obvious 
that if the angle at the starting point of the computation 
is too large you will be millions of miles away from the 
answer or solution when you get through figuring up. You 
will be far away in space demonstrating a lie. In like man- 
ner, if you begin to depart from the truth of Unity in the 
beginning you will go widely astray. Let us suppose that 
you somehow make it a question as to whether Mildmay 
or Hawksley forged the bill ; that the shrewd Hawksley 
tried to make it appear that the junior partner was the 
guilty one. Why not make a fourth act, a new one, to fol- 
low the present third act? Here is a chance if you are after 
complication merely or mainly. You would at least have 
to go back and change the Proposition ; and thereafter very 
little of the present play would remain. Those who talk 
loosely and glibly about letting the characters do as they 
please and write the play, if they really understood the 
drama, cannot mean what they say to the logical extent 
implied. The Unity of the possible play just indicated 
could not be the Unity of the present play. The characters 
would have to be different and have a different Unity. 
Thus, the Unity of the play can be referred back to the 



154 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Unity of ftie Proposition ; and you might have a Proposi- 
tion with perfect Unity and then destroy the Unity of the 
play by destroying the Unity of the Plot. The Plot should 
carry out the Proposition. Now, if Potter should take his 
daughter in hand and convince her of Mildmay's superior- 
ity or of her duty without reference to Mildmay's superior- 
ity over Hawksley, Mildmay would still regain his wife's 
confidence and love by what he does, but not in the way 
required by the Proposition. The structural Unity of the 
play was further obtained or confirmed by the arrangement 
of the Plot into Acts and Scenes. If there is a link missing 
there is as much absence of Unity as there would be in a 
chain with a missing link. Leave out Mrs. Sternhold's 
thirteen letters, and she would never have been convinced 
of Mildmay's resolute character, for she would have given 
all the credit for the exposure of Hawksley to Gimlet. The 
Plot would have been defective. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" carries out a 
double Proposition, in which, however, there is Unity, and 
which sustains our interest in a number of Actions all so 
woven together that it becomes one fabric. The Unity of 
it would have been greatly impaired by any disproportion 
in the use of any one of the three Actions. It is only in 
the very last act that Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth come 
together, in discussing affairs, so as to form any definite 
Plot as concerns them. They fall together naturally. There 
has never been any obstacle between them to be overcome 
by struggle and necessary to be set forth in the detail. As 
said, in speaking of their relations to the Plot, their per- 
sonal relations do not belong to the Plot of the play itself, 
except in an incidental way. If you had made them jealous 
of each other, the Unity of the Plot would have been de- 
stroyed. In fact, if anything more than has been done had 
been made of their personal relations, the Unity would 
have been vastly impaired. We have shown that Episode 
and incidental Action do not destroy Unity. Justice Greedy 
is as integral a part of this play as any other character in 



UNITY 15 



OD 



it. There is a complete conformity of Proposition, Plot 
and Action in this play, consequently, its Unity is perfect. 
We can only conjecture what might have impaired its 
Unity. If Sir Giles had set his heart on marrying the 
widow, there might have been many additional complica- 
tions, and a Unity might have been secured in it all, but it 
would have been the Unity of some other play. The Pro- 
position does not call for his continued pursuit of Lady 
Allworth. If a woman had been introduced into the Ac- 
tion in order to have some one to bestow on Wellborn 
as a sentimental compensation, some kind of Unity might 
have been obtained, but it would not have been the Unity 
of this play. You might have had him in love with the 
widow, too. But the Unity of impression desired was to 
come from a concentration of the efforts of the characters 
combined against Sir Giles. In the early part of the play 
there are several breaks in the continuity of the Plot Action 
apparently, but it is a kind of disunity that soon cures 
itself. Much of this comes from the old freedom in the 
shifting of scenes of locality. But having more Unity in 
the scenery does not necessarily give more Unity to the 
Action. 



CHAPTER XIV. 



SEQUENCE. 

One of the most important distinctions between the 
dramatic and mere story telling is the Sequence of happen- 
ings and ideas. The drama has an idiom — an arrangement 
of its own. It is what, in grammar, is called collocation. 
You cannot claim to speak any language foreign to your 
own and with a different collocation until you are perfectly 
familiar with the arrangement of words in a sentence in 
that language. We encounter this difficulty less in the 
French, more in the German, and to a marked degree in 
the Latin. The following sentence is entirely natural to us 
in its arrangement of the words and ideas: "Mithridates, 
King of twenty-two nations, pronounced judicial decisions 
in^as many languages." The Latin arrangement would be : 
"Mithridates, of two and twenty nations king, in as many 
languages judicial decisions pronounced." You will have 
to become reconciled to the idiomatic arrangement of ideas 
and facts in the drama, just as you have to in learning 
Latin or any foreign language. Just as the sway of Action 
and Unity runs entirely through the drama so does Se- 
quence. In every step of our work so far we have been 
treading over the ground of Sequence. The Division into 
Acts — their Sequences — had to be effective or the play 
would have failed — or succeeded imperfectly. Do not im- 
agine that the author of any of the successful plays which 
you may have read found his Sequence without more or 
less thought. The proper Sequence of the acts may have 
given him little trouble, although this Sequence of the acts 
may be found wrong even after the completion of the man- 
uscript. One who has had experience in revising the manu- 
scripts of amateurs often finds it necessary to transpose 
the acts. Macready once transposed the last act of a play — 
which had not been successful — and made it the first act, 



SEQUENCE 157 

thus securing the triumph of a long disused drama. When 
you get to the arrangement of the Sequence of the scenes 
the difficulties become more numerous, and even in the 
writing of a scene, care must be taken, as we shall more 
fully and definitely see, in adjusting each idea and every 
word to its proper relative position. It depends, of course, 
upon the material and the purpose of the author what the 
Sequence shall be, and he could, in certain cases, reach the 
same results by a different Sequence here and there, but 
given the same story to tell in dramatic form all real drama- 
tists would make use of the same Sequence, differing only 
according to nicety of art and temperament. Refer now to 
the Plot of Ingomar, as supplied to you, and note how one 
thing grows out of another. Now, Cause produces Effect. 
The Cause should not be given after an Effect, for that 
would be explaining the Effect, and that is not dramatic. 
You have to make certain facts clear before a succeeding 
scene will count, at all, otherwise, you rob it of its true 
effectiveness. Transpose the scene between Polydor and 
Parthenia, where she refuses him ; that is, make the fourth 
scene the first, and you will get into difficulties at once. It 
would be plumped in without any explanation of her state 
of mind toward him or of her state of life, its Action would 
be feeble compared to what it is now ; for now we know 
that she has refused her mother and that she has made up 
her mind to drive a bargain with him. This interests us 
very much. As it stands, we have become interested in the 
girl, knowing the conditions and her spirit, the mood in 
which she receives him, and many facts that have been un- 
folded in the three preceding scenes which have cleared 
the ground for the Action of the scene. In this way you 
make everything Self-explanatory. That is to say, you sup- 
ply everything that it is essential for the audience to know 
so as to understand the development of the Action before 
its eyes. And this "Everything that is essential" may be one 
single thing or many things, which if reserved in 
your own mind would defeat your purpose. Begin now to 



I58 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 



«. 



attach definite ideas to all terms that are used. Some of 
them have been withheld at times so as to save confusion or 
unclarity of ideas while you were gaining the gist of some 
principle — one thing at a time. When we come to con- 
structive work you will be able to understand the discus- 
sion necessary. Thus, you will see how important an ad- 
junct to the Action itself Sequence is. You can run a play 
backwards, and you will find it a Sequence of results and 
causes. Take the first act of Parthenia; she goes to offer 
herself as hostage for her father; why? Because her father 
is captive there. What of that? They demand ransom. 
What of that? He cannot raise it; why? Because the 
neighbors will not or cannot give it to her. No one? No; 
she appeals to Poly dor — who is Polydor? A suitor for her 
hand, who seeks revenge on her. For what? Because she 
rejected him? Why? Because he was a miserable 
miser, old and unsuited to her age. Why, then, should 
she not have rejected Polydor? and without concern? Be- 
cause her parents, her mother, urged her. Why? Because 
they were poor and he was rich. The Sequence should be 
made out more closely than this, but it is sufficient to show 
that a play — worked out backwards or forwards — will show 
this result of Sequences. The thing is to get them in their 
right order, otherwise you will not have the Action of 
drama, but a mere story or narrative. Surely, if you have 
given any attention to the study of rhetoric you must un- 
derstand the importance of Sequence in prose composition ; 
but in the drama it is of multiplied more importance. And 
this importance, as with the other principles, extends to 
every particle of a drama, to the words, to two words, some- 
times. Adam, in "As You Like It," is described as "an old, 
poor man;" "poor, old man," would not have suited the 
nicety of Shakespeare's meaning. So, you see, you have to 
look out for a great many things in playwriting, but they 
will not be burdensome to you in the application of your 
art when you know how to apply it ; on the contrary, a plea- 
sure. Now make a study of the plays in hand with refer- 



SEQUENCE 159 

ence to the Sequence in them. See if you can make a dif- 
ferent arrangement here and there and preserve the design 
of the author ; see if you can better anything by a different 
arrangement ; and note the effect of changing the Sequence. 
Go into the arrangement of the ideas and happenings within 
the Scenes and then into the arrangement of the Scenes 
with reference to themselves for the purpose of the Plot. 
Do not go faster than you learn ; be diligent and patient. 
Learn to work now, too, for real work is ahead when the 
Constructive exercises begin. 

Sequence and Cause and Effect are distinct principles 
although their application often coincides. It is necessary 
that we treat them separately. Let us examine "The Lady 
of Lyons" to see how the principle of proper Sequence has 
been observed. Each act here has its proper Se- 
quence ; and each scene and each idea in its order 
in the sentences was subjected to the law of Sequence. 
First we have it that Pauline is rich and proud. Observe 
that not a word is said about the gardener's son or of his 
love for Pauline until the Landlord speaks of it, on page II. 
In the form of Conditions Precedent, the facts existed in 
Bulwer's mind, did they not? The amateur with the same 
raw material would have been impatient to introduce the 
character, by reference at least, much earlier. Merely ob- 
serve that the Sequence here is arranged as it is, that all 
information is withheld up to the point indicated. Sequence 
involves the proper placing of ideas and facts only when 
and where they are needed. That is something to note in 
making the analysis of a play. Why is nothing said of 
Damas's experience in the army earlier than page 21 in 
the second act? It would have been out of place, or, at 
least, ineffective elsewhere ; its time had not come. Cause 
and Effect, which we shall next take up, is a kind of Se- 
quence ; but we must distinguish, as we have just done, in 
order to get a scientific basis and to extract points of value 
in playmaking. Everything in this play is in its proper 
Sequence, but it took labor to get it so. The work began 



100 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

with the Plot, and then continued through the fixing of the 
Sequence of the acts and of the scenes. Analysis enables 
you to read all plays with profit. You can thereby learn 
from them the niceties of an author's art. In this matter of 
Sequence you will observe that some fact comes up for the 
first time. Your attention being thus directed to it, natu- 
rally you enquire why the author did not introduce it soon- 
er and your investigation results in profit. Such analysis 
by way of observation is sufficient. It would be well, how- 
ever, to note on the margin of the plays you read what you 
discover. For instance — why did not Melnotte sooner de- 
mand the release from his oath? 

It was not until after his interview with Pauline, and he 
had seen that the effect of his lie about his rank and his pal- 
ace was to leave her in a state of molten love, that he real- 
ized that his love for her was so great as to make him re- 
gret his bargain. With the realization came the prickings 
of conscience, forbidding him to carry the deception fur- 
ther, and forcing him to ask to be released. Why does not 
the duel between Damas and Melnotte take place sooner? 
Bulwer had determined that there should be such a scene. 
He had to consider it and fix upon the proper place for it. 
He put it in its proper place in the Sequence, if for no other 
reasons than it leaves Damas upon the scene to become 
convinced of the love of the two young people, at the close 
of the act, and to bring the act itself to its close, with him 
as Melnotte's friend. The duel was necessary in order to 
reconcile him fully to Melnotte, through that peculiar 
friendship which, when he fights another, conies to the 
man who loves combat. The monologue of the widow, 
page 32, is another example of proper Sequence. 

Why could it not have been brought out later that the 
widow was ignorant of Claude's deception? Why could 
not the monologue be omitted? Why should she not enter 
by the stairway and greet her son? Because the proper Se- 
quence is to have the audience know her character first, to 
see her. Leave that out and it would make a material dif- 



SEQUENCE l6l 

ference. It is in its right place. All that she says in the 
monologue could be introduced into the Dialogue on the 
next page, but the Dramatist evidently thought that by in- 
troducing it in that way he would interrupt the natural Se- 
quence of ideas in the situation on that page. He was fol- 
lowing a method that is now, for the most part, in disuse. 
In the present exercises we are turning our attention to 
discovering as many aspects of a principle as we can in 
these particular plays. It is only after we have gained an 
understanding of the structure of a play that we have free- 
dom in such an investigation. Of course, your first task 
is to discover and point out the best examples of a prin- 
ciple and as many of them as you can. But we are now 
also to concern ourselves with Constructive and Destruc- 
tive analysis. Sequence is of such universal and constant 
use in a play and in playwriting that we not only see it exer- 
cised but must exercise it in a specific way with other 
specific principles and methods. Thus, we have seen that 
the decisive principle in the Plot is Cause and Effect and 
that Sequence is sometimes identical with it; consequently, 
we now only refer to the chapter on Cause and Effect in 
the Plot for an understanding of its function there. The 
Sequence of scenes is also another aspect of the principle. The 
Sequence of words in the Dialogue belongs to Dialogue. 
We shall find it profitable, then, to confine our investiga- 
tion to that Sequence of ideas which we are compelled to 
determine upon when we are considering the material 
itself of a play. We want to get at the living principle 
just as it is exercised. Finding the material of a play is a 
distinct process, and in it we do not concern ourselves par- 
ticularly about Sequence. We know that we can use cer- 
tain Facts and certain data. In a way, the material is in- 
choate. Order is brought out of it only after deliberation, 
and when we apply Sequence to the ideas collected. There 
are certain Conditions Precedent which must be introduced 
somewhere. We know that they can be introduced only inci- 
ii 



l62 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

dentally, and we must create the occasion for their use. 
They are the facts and conditions upon which the Action 
is based, and we retain them without regard, at first, to 
where they are to be introduced. Of course, from time to 
time, we see the proper place for them, or approximately 
where we could use them. We may in our notes assign 
even a turn of expression to a definite scene. A practical 
method of work is, after making your general notes, to 
distribute these notes on fresh sheets of paper among the 
acts to which they respectively belong. Sometimes a scene 
or even an entire act will take possession of an author, and 
his accumulation of notes will bear on that Act or that scene, 
leaving no difficulty as to the order in which they will be 
used, except in the matter of detail. If we get the larger 
Sequences first, of the acts, for instance, it becomes easier 
to assign the ideas in your notes. The structure once pro- 
vided for, many points have to be introduced incidentally 
in the right place. Camille's mode of feverish life is finally 
to kill her. Merely to have her die of consumption would be 
an exceedingly disagreeable idea. She really dies of broken 
heart, the result of her sacrifice. Her malady is spiritual 
as well as physical. Dumas did not choose to carry out 
to its logical moral his philosophy of the right of such a 
woman to live and to be united happily with the man she 
loves; so that while he provided his Proposition, he made 
a successful compromise with inexorable social prejudice. 
It is obvious, then, that the idea of her physical weakness 
should not be urged too early or too strongly. It is brought 
out by a light touch, a slight cough. Nothing has been said 
about it in the first three scenes, nothing by Nanine when 
she gives an account of her life. We are prepared for her 
physical frailty by what has been said of the illness which 
caused her to visit the waters of Bagneres. If her 
present state of health had been discussed in the opening 
Scenes, it would have made the idea disproportionately 
prominent. It becomes prominent later on as a matter of 
development or Sequence. That Madam Prudence is a 



SEQUENCE 163 

gourmand is kept to enliven the supper. What earthly 
weight would it have had if introduced earlier. There was 
no need of showing Prudence's propensity to borrow mo- 
ney until the second act. We have heard before this that 
"she is a good soul with a heart as light as her purse." 
It is essential to introduce in the first act that Varville is 
rich and willing to pay Camille's debts. The fact that 
Gustave is a lawyer did not require emphasis in any part 
of the play, except in the scene where Nichette and he, with 
Camille, laugh over the misadventures in his practice. That 
was the right place and the only place for it. If the idea 
had been emphasized or had even been made to appear any- 
where else it might have been misleading, in having us ex- 
pect something to come from his Character as a lawyer. At 
any rate, the fact in itself has no significance. It is only 
the humor derived from it in a single scene which has any 
value. The notable Sequence in Camille is largely struc- 
tural, with reference to the Plot. There are other plays 
that will afford a better opportunity to study the difficulties 
and alternative possibilities of Sequence. We have seen 
enough to realize that Sequence is an active principle, that 
it begins working even in the darkness, while the Material 
is being collected, and when light is reached it is a domi- 
nant activity or mental process until some other activity 
takes its place, but, in a way, always existent; in the com- 
plete work absolutely essential. 

derstand Sequence; the general principle perhaps you do. 
Its meaning is apparently very plain, things following in 
their proper order ; but you must understand it anew when- 
ever your mind operates upon your Material. The mere 
word or definition has no cabalistic power. A general knowl- 
edge of the principles in itself accomplishes nothing. Each 
matter of Sequence requires specific management. One 
may try innumerable Sequences in various parts of the 
structure of the play, including the Dialogue, before get- 
ting the right Sequence. Perhaps there is nothing in the 
art which requires more tentative work, more transposition, 



164 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

more balancing of events. We begin to have to do with 
Sequence with the Proposition. We encounter it again in 
connection with the inexorable law of Cause and Effect in 
the Plot. We grapple with it again in arranging the order 
of the Acts ; it confronts us again in our arrangement of the 
order of the Scenes, and so on down to the last syllable. 
Inasmuch as Sequence in "Still Waters Run Deep" has 
been discussed in its relation with the various other princi- 
ples and methods, it is enough now that we discuss it in a 
general way. We may note some aspects of it which have 
not been pointed out elsewhere. We are getting now past 
definitions and close to the active properties of living prin- 
ciples. The dramatist gathers his Material for his play, and 
it is no discredit to him or lack of art in the mind of him 
that this Material is as inchoate as was the void out of 
which the world was made "in the beginning." It is possi- 
ble that the main Sequence of your play may find itself im- 
mediately. A Plot with its Sequence may suggest itself at 
once, but you are not yet done with Sequence, by any 
means. There are a thousand Sequences to find. It may 
be that Taylor, when he began to gather his Material for 
"Still Waters Run Deep" saw first the scene between Mild- 
may and Hawksley in which the shares are taken back and 
the letters returned. In other words, he saw the middle of 
his play; he recognized it as the middle of his play. He may 
have dimly felt the beginning of the play as it is now. 
The play reaches its consistency by shooting off Se- 
quences from definite points. The mind, in dealing with 
its Material, is constantly assigning places for its 
use. From what has just been said, it is obvious 
that the principle or method involved in the chap- 
ter on Material is properly made a distinct one for your 
study and exercise. One may spend a year, at least, in 
gathering his Material. We may assume that, in his Ma- 
terial, Taylor figured Mrs. Sternhold to himself as sharp 
in temper and impatient of contradiction. Where was he 
to introduce this trait distinctly and to the best advantage? 



SEQUENCE 165 



Of course, we see her asperity in the first lines which she 
utters. Her impatience of contradiction is suggested 
throughout the first scene, but it becomes very definite 
when we see Potter's apologetic manner toward her, when 
he says, "Well, but sister — ." She forbids discussion. In 
the scene between her and Potter, it has stronger ex- 
pression : "Nonsense, brother ! I don't wish for any dis- 
cussion; I only want an answer, yes or no." The drama- 
tist finds occasion as well as place for everything. In his 
Material, the dramatist had the thirteen letters. He may 
have had to ponder long before he determined at what 
point to bring out the fact of their existence. Wisely, at 
last, he brought it out actively and not passively, in a 
scene in which these letters furnish a startling surprise 
and an astonishing turn to the Action. If the play had 
begun by a discussion of Hawksley, his character, his for- 
mer attentions to Emily, and his present financial scheme, 
we would have lost the quiet humor of the first scene, 
and difficulty would have been had in demonstrating Mild- 
may's patience. Sequence is of importance always, but 
after you have overcome its demands as to the structure of 
a play, all else becomes comparatively easy. It would be 
good exercise if you should destroy the Sequence in this 
play at various points and then note the difficulties that will 
ensue. Mildmay had two objects in visiting Hawksley, the 
one to have Hawksley take up the shares, and the other 
to force him to return Mrs. Sternhold's letters. The Se- 
quence is that Mildmay finally announces the object, first 
the one and then the other, saying that he had taken mea- 
sures to compel Hawksley to grant both demands. He then 
reveals Hawksley's criminal history as to the forging of 
one of the bills, and the promise to surrender the bill 
brings Hawksley to terms on both Propositions. The Se- 
quence might have been the procuring of the return of the 
money for the shares, and then, or, just as the exchange 
was about to be made, the demand also for the letters. It 



1 66 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

is possible that this slight rearrangement would not de- 
stroy the strength of the Action, and might give a moment 
of additional surprise. It is a matter of treatment. The 
Unity of the two objects which brought Mildmay there 
is perhaps better preserved as it stands. It certainly gives 
a turn to the Dialogue which keeps in mind all the time 
Mildmay's whole case, and consequently sustains the Pro- 
position of the play itself. 

In the other plays so far, we have given our attention to 
Sequence mainly to see how effective the proper arrange- 
ment of ideas and happenings is, and also to discover what 
would be the effect of disarrangement. We begin to be con- 
cerned with Sequence as an active principle from the mo- 
ment we begin to accumulate Material and to develop a 
central idea. The Sequence of Cause and Effect in the Plot 
is so exacting that really the proper place to treat it pro- 
fitably is under the head of Plot. We will assume that 
Massinger, in "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," had made 
a careful study of his principal character, Sir Giles ; that the 
other characters necessary to the Plot in which Sir Giles 
would be the principal figure came at his bidding, and that 
he had thought of many characteristics of the people and of 
many incidents before he determined upon his Plot in de- 
tail. We may assume that he had fixed upon a scene in 
which he would show Wellborn as an outcast. It seems 
so natural that this should be the first scene that it is 
difficult to imagine it placed anywhere else in the play. 
The play is such a good one humanly and technically that 
it is difficult to imagine a different Sequence of the scenes 
from that which exists; still, so many Sequences are pos- 
sible that it is not at all certain that he did not deliberate 
long over its place, as he must have done over some of the 
arrangements of other scenes and ideas. It is exactly right 
as it is. It strikes the right note on the first touch of the 
instrument. You will observe that this is the case with 
all the plays that we have undertaken to analyze; but it 
is not at all certain that each author discovered what his 



SEQUENCE 167 

first note should be without having played a bar or two 
wrongly conceived. In short, the proper Sequence is not 
necessarily the first one that occurs to you. Inasmuch as 
we have Sequence in Plot, Sequence of Acts, Sequence of 
Scenes, Sequence in Dialogue and finally that general Se- 
quence which must be consulted in the use of ideas or 
even significant bits here and there, it is not easy to anal- 
yze this play in a way detached from the various parts of 
it indicated in the preceding sentence; consequently, we 
shall treat of its Sequence in a general way. We shall note 
those points which are helpful in the study of the principle. 
We observe first that the dramatist does not immediately 
let us know that Tapwell and Froth are driving from the 
house a vagabond who was once their master. The circum- 
stances of a play might require such a fact to be made 
known at the very outset, but that is not the desirable Se- 
quence of ideas here. Massinger makes us see Wellborn at 
the lowest point of his degradation. We have no sympa- 
thy with him whatever. It is a very important thing to get 
an idea before an audience distinctly and unhampered by 
other ideas of equal importance and not to subordinate the 
main idea. One idea at a time is the law. We have seen 
that this law holds with reference to the objects of scenes, 
and when we triturate it down into the Dialogue the same 
law holds. One idea at a time. The proper place 
for our learning in what way Tapwell is an un- 
thankful villain is after we have seen him unthank- 
ful. The proper place to bring out what he is 
unthankful for is after we have seen that which proves 
the charge of unthankfulness, and later on, in proper Se- 
quence come the details of the gift. The quarrel had to be, 
in order to bring out the facts in the Dialogue. At the end 
of the quarrel come the blows. In introducing the fact that 
Allworth is in love with Margaret, Massinger provided the 
occasion by having Wellborn, in return for the kindness 
of Allworth, give him well meant advice. The introduction 
of the fact of the love affair is made possible by a scene 



l68 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

which has for its object something else. Massinger is very- 
careful not to have Wellborn reveal his plans in this scene. 
The time has not arrived for him to disclose them from a 
technical point of view. Massinger's art is plainly visible 
in this. If Wellborn had disclosed what he intended to do 
in his attempt to retrieve his fortune, it would have been 
over-preparation. Very well, the technical knowledge of 
the principle of Preparation, its use and misuse, could guide 
an author in a similar moment of his Action, but an appre- 
ciation of right Sequence could also serve him. It is ob- 
vious that the Plot is best served by introducing us next, 
in the second scene of the Act, to Lady Allworth's home 
and household. We might* enquire here why could not 
the scene between Marrall and Sir Giles, which opens 
the second act, follow the scene between Allworth and 
Wellborn ? It would entertain and would have a bearing on 
what we have just seen. Of course, it is so arranged now 
that it fits into that part of the play where it stands, but 
we assume it to be very probable that this talk between 
Marrall and Sir Giles may have presented itself to Mas- 
singer as an independent scene, and that it and other inde- 
pendent scenes had finally to be assembled like the parts 
of a machine. It is certainly entirely legitimate to imagine 
and determine on and even to write scenes before their 
functional use or place in the mechanism is fixed. The 
scene of the second act ending with the determination of Sir 
Giles to prevent his nephew from ever rising again could 
certainly be used in the first act. Of course, it would 
have to be changed to some extent in order to make it fit 
the proposed Sequence; but depend upon it, in the writing 
of any play one has to hesitate constantly as to where he 
will place a scene, and, indeed, has even to transpose a scene 
from where he has placed it. No unfavorable criticism 
can be made of the present Sequence. Lady Allworth's 
state has first to be shown, but observe that no material is 
wasted, for the servants who show her state are needed to 
bring out first the apparent helplessness of Wellborn's 



SEQUENCE 169 

quest, which presently takes a favorable turn, the Sequence 
of events leading to the complete success of Wellborn's 
scheme, in so far as the favor of Lady Allworth is con- 
cerned. The scenes have carried along* the Action of the 
play with a splendid stride, but every foot of the ground is 
covered as to detail. For a long time on the English stage, 
it was thought indispensable to have a distinct sub-plot, 
and to work out the stories connected with each character 
into rounded out perfection. This is good art, but there 
has been a growing disposition to break away, to a large 
extent, from the complete worked out sub-plot. This play 
has a number of subordinate Plots which may be described 
as sub-plots. In seeking scientific accuracy, it is a little 
difficult to reduce the general plot of this play to its main 
Plot. The Plot element of the drama is discussed in an- 
other place. Attention is here called to the management of 
the various Plots, in order to emphasize the important func- 
tions of Sequence. Without a nice exercise of Sequence, 
the Plots would have fallen into inextricable confusion. A 
distinct beginning is first made with the Plot as it concerns 
Wellborn, then the Plot, or added Sub-Plot, as it concerns 
Allworth and Margaret is taken up, and then follows, and is 
easily solved, the sub-plot of the union of Lord Lovell and 
Lady Allworth. The ambition and effort of Sir Giles to 
marry Margaret to Lord Lovell has also the distinctness of 
sub-plot and becomes the dominant plot of the play as 
the end is reached. It may seem that Sir Giles's plans as 
to Margaret and Lord Lovell are not mentioned at all in 
the first act. It is true that Wellborn in his talk with All- 
worth warns him against the hopelessness of continuing 
his suit for Margaret, for, as he says, Sir Giles, "to make 
her great in swelling titles, without touch of conscience 
will cut his neighbor's throat." It is enough at this point 
to convey a general idea. It is excellent Preparation. We 
get the one fact of Sir Giles's ambition, which is enough. 
If either Wellborn or Allworth had told of the specific de- 
sign of Sir Giles, it would have been adding another fact, 



170 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

out of proper Sequence, to no avail. It would have given 
the audience too much to think about at the time. The im- 
proper Sequence and multiplicity of idea would have 
brought about needless complication. It is time enough at 
the close of the first scene in the second act to have Sir 
Giles's definite ambition brought out, not, as it would have 
been in the scene in the first act referred to, at second hand,, 
but at first hand. At the end of the second act, in its 
proper Sequence, there is another definite idea brought 
out which would have been out of place at the end of the 
first scene of the first act, namely, that Sir Giles expects 
Lord Lovell to dine with him tomorrow. Now, imagine 
all these things jumbled up in the talk between Wellborn 
and Allworth in the first act, and you can readily see how 
weak would have been the effect in every way. It is the 
Sequence that gives the value, or even makes the play 
possible by a succession of ideas and events. 



CHAPTER XV. 



CAUSE AND EFFECT. 

"The Lady of Lyons" dwells a good deal on states of 
affairs and, while there is full adequacy of complication, the 
Causes and Effects which are essential to the Plot are sim- 
ple. Pauline is proud because she is beautiful and has 
many suitors; her mother incites her to marry rank. Why? 
Because their riches have been gained in trade. Beau- 
seant seeks her because he loves her for her beauty; and 
she rejects him because he has lost his title in the upheaval 
and levelling of the Revolution; he is angered because of 
his confidence in making the proposal, and because of the 
real affront to a man above her. Because he is a blunt 
man and has adopted the principles of the Revolution, 
Damas has no sympathy with the silly ambitions of mother 
and daughter. Because of the fancied insult, Beauseant 
wishes revenge ; because Glavis has also been rejected he 
joins Beauseant to devise some plan of revenge. Because 
they hear Melnotte hailed a prince, they think of the plan 
of marrying Pauline to a pretended Prince. They think this 
is feasible because he is represented as accomplished and 
with the manners of the well-born, and that he is secretly 
in love with Pauline. Melnotte has sent his verses to Pau- 
line only this day, because he has seen her wearing his 
anonymously sent flowers ; he expects a favorable reply 
because he thinks she will forget that he is peasant born, 
for it is in the days of the Revolution and desert is true 
rank; he wishes revenge because of the insult to his pride 
and the injury and contumely to his servant messenger. 
He accepts the offer in Beauseant's letter because the op- 
portunity for revenge and the gratification of love seem 
at hand. Melnotte succeeds in winning Pauline because of 
the vanity and blind ambition of the women, who do not 
doubt his genuineness because he has been represented as 



172 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) 

travelling incognito for fear of the Directory; the plotters 
have furnished him with funds and jewelry because Mel- 
notte must sustain the character ; and they think their plot 
is safe because Melnotte is bound by oath. Damas sus- 
pects because he sees Beauseant and Glavis remonstrating 
with Melnotte after he has given away the ring and the 
box; he tries him with Italian because he knows the lan- 
guage and wants to test him. ; Melnotte tells Pauline of his 
palace by the Lake of Como because he would test her. 
Damas becomes Melnotte's friend because one, particularly 
a soldier, likes a man after having fought with him and 
because he must be a man of honor to fence so well. The 
marriage is hastened because of the letter from the Direc- 
tory and the apparent danger to Melnotte. He takes her to 
his mother's cottage because he has not the courage to 
abandon her among the jeering peasants and servants at 
the Inn. She begins to cease to hate him because of his 
explanation and proof of his love; he gives her into the 
hand of his mother, because he will pursue the revenge no 
further, and will give her her freedom. Melnotte will now 
seek to redeem himself and his honor in the wars because 
he has lost his honor and because the opportunity has been 
offered him by Damas, or, at least, the idea of promotion 
suggested. Pauline thinks better of Melnotte because of 
his surrender of her and is piqued by the mother's confi- 
dence that her son could marry any of the beauties. 
She begins to feel a wifely duty and love because of 
many sensible reflections. She repels Beauseant because 
she hates him and really has not given up her love that 
was won by Melnottee in his assumed character and which 
is partly confirmed in his real one. Melnotte refuses her 
offer to remain as his wife because he must redeem him- 
self on account of his base treachery. Damas takes Mel- 
notte to the house of the Deschappelles because he has ad* 
mission there and because he thinks there may be a chance 
that Pauline may still love Melnotte. Pauline is to marry 
Beauseant because he will save her father from bank- 



CAUSE AND EFFECT 173 

ruptcy; Melnotte does not speak at first because he be- 
lieves that she is doing it because she is faithless. He 
reveals himself finally because she discovers her love for 
him and he pays the money that releases her and her 
father. Thus by running the Causes forward you get all 
the Effects. By running the results backward you may 
get all the Causes, proving the same thing, getting the 
same result by adding up the line from bottom to top. 
Indeed, there is a reason and a result in every line of this 
play, and in every real play. These Causes and Effects lie 
in the material and its arrangement ; they are inherent, 
and while it is not a question of mathematics, the results 
are just as exact. 

Cause and Effect extends to every fibre of a play, and is 
particularly the characteristic of Plot. It is very clear in 
"Camille." This being the case, let us take up some other 
aspects and applications of the principle. By means of it 
we get the reason why of everything. We obtain that 
clarity which prevents an audience from "thinking," the 
Self-Explanatory. We do not need to see the full extent 
of every Cause at once. That would, for that matter, be 
impossible, but we do see enough to partly answer and to 
excite our curiosity. A man is waiting. For whom? Ca- 
mille. Who is Camille? The mistress of the house no 
doubt, for Nanine is evidently not, but a servant. Nichette 
enters. Who is she? What does she come for? We are 
soon answered. Varville waits for something. Nichette 
loves Camille. Why? Because of the goodness of her 
heart and an unaffectedness of character that we at once 
divine. Nichette goes because Gustave is waiting for her. 
She is happy in a single love because she is wise, sage. 
Varville's suit does not thrive because Camille does not 
love him "the least bit in the world." Varville wonders at 
her strange taste in enduring the visits of Monsieur de 
Meuriac. Why does she? Because he has befriended her. 
Nanine tells Varville the story, not because he has not 
heard it before, but because he does not believe it, and she 



174 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

urges it with all the details. True, the recital is required 
for technical reasons, but that is not the because of its 
telling. And Varville did not know all the story, for 
Nanine says : "Ah, sir, you would have pitied her had you 
seen her efforts to please the world in which the Due de 
Meuriac sought to gain her a position !" Camille is rude to 
Varville and impatient with him because she has told him 
a hundred times not to importune her. She is irritated 
at him because she does not wish to have her liberty in- 
truded on. Gaston and Olimpe come in, although they had 
just parted with Camille, because Gaston had a happy 
thought in passing the Cafe de Paris to order some fine 
oysters and a basket of Champagne. Olimpe does not 
know that Prudence is a neighbor and in consequence ex- 
presses surprise. Because Camille has only to open the 
window to call Prudence, she does so. This may be a very 
small "because," but see the variety it gives to the en- 
trance. Dumas had purpose in all that he did, much of it 
technical, pure and simple. Prudence cannot come at once 
because she is detained by a young man she has not seen 
for a long time. Because of that Camille invites her to 
bring him along. Because she wishes the fire replenished, 
Camille turns to Varville because he is sitting at the fire- 
place, to make himself useful in putting on some wood. 
It may be said that this reasonableness of Business and 
Dialogue would occur to any writer. But not so unless he 
reasoned and had purpose in mind. He would let these 
things happen without immediate Cause and Effect. He 
would stumble too often. He would have Causes without 
Effects and Effects without Causes. He would not join 
them soon enough. They would exist in his mind perhaps, 
but not be in immediate active evidence. There is also a 
nicety that determines those things. Would you or I not 
perhaps have had Camille ask the name of Prudence's 
friend when she was talking from the window? We would 
possibly have been in too much of a hurry to communicate 
our story and would not have permitted it to develop itself 



CAUSE AND EFFECT 175 

in the better way. Dialogue must have its Cause and Effect, 
else we would not have responsiveness. Armand speaks 
of his father because Gaston speaks of him first. Gaston 
also enquires concerning his mother. And so as to his 
sister, Armand replies because Gaston suggests that Ar- 
mand is an only child. Do you not see how Cause and Ef- 
fect operates here as a distinctly better thing than the 
direct method of having Armand tell at once on slight pro- 
vocation all about his family? He could have said: "Yes, 
M. Duval is my father. He is still living at Tours with my 
sister. My mother has been dead for three years." The 
effect upon Camille is to make her "begin to like" Pru- 
dence's friend. The Cause of that Effect lies not only in 
the Facts brought out, and her own views of life, but also 
in the way they are brought out. The Effect on the audi- 
ence is also stronger. Causes would not happen so appro- 
priately by chance as to relieve an author of reasoning and 
of providing his Causes. He wants certain results and he 
must devise Causes. Dumas wanted to have Armand and 
Camille alone. How does he get the others off? By rea- 
son of her spell of coughing and faintness. "She is better 
alone when those attacks arrive," says Prudence. Camille 
has also asked Gaston to step into the other room and take 
the gentlemen along with him for cigars, saying that she 
would soon join them, and in an aside telling the ladies to 
go with them. Dumas got his means of having them alone 
from the circumstances. The others might simply have 
happened to go out, but how ineffective would have been 
the Cause. In this interview between the two, if the Causes 
were not deep laid in the Conditions, we would not have 
enough to make the Dialogue. He loves her, she likes 
him; he urges his love, she thinks he jests; why had he 
never told her of it before? Because he had not known her. 
Why should he not tell his love? She answers: "Be- 
cause it can result in but one or two things: First, that 
I will not believe it, or, believing it, cause you to wish I 
never had." Because she doubts, he says, "for eternity." 



176 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

She has found a new meaning in the words. She intends 
to go to the country, and we know it was Armand's sug- 
gestion. She gets the money from the Duke, and Armand 
reproves her, and will not consent. So the Action moves 
along on the lines of Cause and Effect, not only in mechan- 
ism, but in details. 

Cause and Effect exists invdramatic form in every part of 
a good play and it is associated with every principle. 
Cause and Effect in the Plot of "Still Waters Run Deep" 
belongs more particularly to the study of the Plot. There 
Cause and Effect follow in strict Sequence. Probably Cau- 
sation would be a better description for that minor Cause 
and Effect that governs the details. Thus, when the cur- 
tain rises we see a condition of affairs, the effect of some- 
thing we have not seen, the causes being unfolded gradu- 
ally, until we rise to that definite and organic succession 
of Causes and Effects that makes the play move and form 
the Plot. In the first scene of this play, we get the condi- 
tion of affairs in an active state. Little or nothing is done 
or effected. No absolutely radical change in the relations 
of the characters is made. Similar scenes have been en- 
acted often before in this household, we say to ourselves. 
Much that happens is to affect the Action later on, the din- 
ner and Mrs. Sternhold' opinion of Mildmay, for example. 
The effect of Mrs. Sternhold's words as he lies asleep, as 
she thinks, is that he determines to punish her by refusing 
to understand her attempt to explain her {roubles. In the 
Causation we do not get the definite Cause always before 
the Effect. Thus we do not at first learn that Emily is 
rude to her husband, and dissatisfied with him because she 
is sentimental or because he is a prosaic person. In what 
way he is prosaic we do not know until he speaks of going 
to earth up his celery. We do not suspect at first that the 
chief cause of his discontent is that she has fallen under 
the fascination of Hawksley. But Cause and Effect is very 
plain in what happens. He wants to go to his gardening 
because he does not seem to be wanted and because Emily 



s 

cause: and effect 177 

will not play. He remains because he sees that he will 
further offend his unreasonable wife should he leave. He 
is a peace loving man. Emily plays for her aunt, because 
she is perverse. Mrs. Sternhold gives her opinion of Mild- 
may because she thinks he is asleep. The entire Dialogue 
has causation in its responsiveness. There is reason for 
everything that is said, and it would not be said if each 
point were not led up to. Mildmay wants the dinner alone 
with Emily because it is the anniversary of their wedding 
and because the aunt is a disturbing influence. She refuses 
because her aunt has appointed the day for a dinner at 
home. He goes to sleep, apparently, because it is his cus- 
tom, and because nothing more can be said to get his wife 
in good humor. All these causes lie right at hand and are 
understood at once, everything being Self-Explanatory. He 
goes out because he is awakened rudely. Taylor even pro- 
vides a reason why Mildmay has not told Emily that he 
was going to Manchester. "Why should I? I shall return 
by the express tomorrow." The real reason, which could 
not be conveyed now, is that he could not confide his secret 
to his wife. It might easily be said that there would be a 
cause for the exit of Mildmay if he woke up, yawned and 
said that he was going to earth up his celery, but the man- 
ner of the waking is better caused. More of the Material 
or conditions are used, her petulance, the patience of Mild- 
may, &c. Suppose the whole scene between Potter and 
Mrs. Sternhold were placid, that he agreed with her in 
everything, there would be a cause for everything that 
might be said, but it would be too uniform, and the scene 
would be tiresome. Potter denies that what he proposes 
is "stuff and nonsense." He is irritated at her reference to 
his "death." He does not like to propose the matter to Mild- 
may. There is just enough of give and take to fill the 
scene with animation, an animation that comes from causa- 
tion. There is variety in the causes brought to the surface 
by the discussion between them. Then we have the reason 

for his saying that he would be just as well pleased if 
12 



I78 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Hawksley did not visit the house so often. We do not 
see why he objects until he explains. All this could have 
been brought out story-fashion. Causation does it better. 
Potter is timid and uncertain in his opinions. Mrs. Stern- 
hold, on the other hand, is one who is resolute, and acts. 
The cause of her agitation is enough for the moment; it 
lies, we think, at the time, in her character. We do not 
know yet that she is moved by jealousy. The real cause 
comes to the surface later. For the present, in this analy- 
sis, let us rest at that: that the mechanism of the Action 
requires its causes when the mechanism of the Plot for- 
bids the relation at the time of certain definite Causes. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is as solid as a Roman 
arch and cemented with Cause and Effect. We shall first 
consider the larger Causes and Effects, those more closely 
related to the Plot and the Action immediately connected 
with it. Sir Giles has defrauded Wellborn of his heritage, 
but he himself is partly to blame, for he has spent all in 
riotous living; by reason of which he is reduced to want 
and beggary ; by reason of this he is turned away from the 
inn and humiliated by the innkeeper who owed his very 
house to him ; because of the sense of shame he determines 
to redeem himself; his friend, Allworth, because Sir Giles 
will marry Margaret only to a man of rank and wealth, 
determines to get Lord Lovell to help him; because Well- 
born has been a friend-in-need of her husband, Lady All- 
worth agrees to pretend she might marry him ; because of 
being taken by Wellborn to dine with Lady Allworth, Mar- 
rail reports to Sir Giles the sudden change in Wellborn's 
fortunes, and because Sir Giles believes that he lies he 
beats him, because of which Marrall determines to revenge 
himself on him and seek reward from Wellborn; because 
convinced that Lady Allworth is to marry Wellborn, Sir 
Giles furnishes him with money to pay off his creditors; 
because Lord Lovell pretends to be a suitor for Margaret, 
and because she seems to be content, Sir Giles is duped; 
and because he is duped into this belief he sends the word 



CAUSE AND EFFECT 1 79 

to the curate that enables Margaret and Allworth to marry ; 
because he thinks the real marriage of which he hears ru- 
mors is between Wellborn and Lady Allworth, he demands 
the return of money advanced ; because so advised by Mar- 
rail, Wellborn asks for the deed, which when produced is 
found razed because of the revenge of Marrall, and because 
of the double defeat of his schemes as to Wellborn and 
his daughter he suddenly goes mad, and dies, his punish- 
ment being complete on the two sides of his nature, the 
two aims, love of money and social advancement of his 
daughter that filled his life. To enumerate the Cause and 
Effect in the Action and in the Dialogue would require 
pages. Innumerable Causes and Effects are obvious and 
yet minute. Wellborn asks for drink ; the innkeeper and 
wife refuse ; because of their manner in doing so, he resents 
it and reminds them of who he was and really is ; because 
of his own insolence Tapwell further insults him; by rea- 
son of this he raises his cudgel to strike him ; because of 
which Tapwell threatens him with the bailiff; and because 
of further quarrel Wellborn reminds him of the gifts he 
had made him ; and because Wellborn speaks of Sir John, 
Tapwell describes the past relations, "But since you talk 
of father, in my hope it will torment you, I'll briefly tell 
your story." Why does Wellborn listen to it? He is 
amazed at the impudence of the fellow; but he has hardly 
begun before he says, "Stop, slave ! or I shall lose myself." 
When Tapwell continues and speaks of his profligacy, could 
not Wellborn have ruminated over the truth of it? Or 
could he not have been moved to listen to the unwonted 
volubility of his old servant by reason of what he shortly 
says, "Some curate has penned this invective, mongrel?" It 
is not so difficult for a dramatist to give motives to his 
characters ; the art is to bring those motives into Action at 
the right time and in their right order so as to make that 
Action fluent and pellucid. If you give the Effect before 
the Cause, it would still be Cause and Effect so far as the 
Material is concerned, but not as to the audience. With 



l80 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

reference to the ultimate story it would still be Cause and 
Effect, but not with reference to the Action. Some illus- 
tration of this is had in the exercise on the Self-Explana- 
tory. We are never in doubt in this play why people do 
things. If we do not get the full reason we get enough for 
the moment, just as it is entirely clear to us why Tapwell 
turns Wellborn out, although we do not learn at the mo- 
ment that he is acting under instructions. There is no 
direct Cause and Effect that brings Lord Lovell and Lady 
Allworth together, at least nothing in the requirements of 
the Proposition and Plot; their affairs are disposed of in 
the single scene in the opening of the fifth act; but indi- 
rectly there is beautiful Cause and Effect. "Sweet reason- 
ableness" is an almost wornout expression, but it comes 
into its full meaning when applied here. There was no 
obstacle to overcome between these two; their union was 
entirely natural and was brought about without any effort 
in a dramatic way. Massinger was profoundly philosophi- 
cal and knew human nature to its depths. Sir Giles was not 
duped by the machinations of others alone. As Lord Lovell 
says: 

"Hard things are compassed oft by easy means. 
The cunning statesman, that believes he fathoms 
The counsels of all kingdoms on earth, 
Is by simplicity oft over-reached." 

Sir Giles duped himself. His own cunning and greed and 
blindness caused his own downfall. What may be called 
minor Cause and Effect is to be observed in the conduct of 
the dialogue. Everything that is said is caused by some- 
thing, a Cause or an Effect, thrusting or parrying, or what- 
ever may be required at the moment. Cause and Effect 
should be constant, otherwise there would be small or no 
Action. There must be immediate Effect, although the 
remote Effect may be of the utmost importance. The Ef- 
fect on Sir Giles of Marrall's recital of his feast is to have 



CAUSE AND EFFECT l8l 

the former beat him. That is enough for the moment. The 
most important effect is the betrayal later on. It was abso- 
lutely essential to the plot that he should get this beating; 
it had to have a definite Cause. A general course of cruelty 
toward Marrall would not have been enough, consequently, 
Massinger has the Cause to grow out of the development 
of events. 



CHAPTER XVI. 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE LIFE. 

It is of the utmost importance that the student, at the 
very outset, rid himself of the idea or delusion that because 
he sees his characters, in his mind's eye, move and dance, 
and laugh and weep, and otherwise disport themselves, they 
necessarily constitute between themselves any fraction or 
part of a play. Their Actions, even if you created them 
man and woman, might fall very far short of drama. You 
cannot have failed to observe, by this time, that the drama 
has laws of its own; it is a distinct thing, an entity, with 
organs, such as Plot, Scenes, Action, Sequence, just as es- 
sential to its being as are your own heart, arteries, nerves, 
to your own entity and existence. It has as much right to 
its own laws as Nature has. The drama is an artificial and 
yet a perfectly natural thing. This sounds paradoxical, 
and yet it is perfectly simple. Life is as vast and boundless 
as the sea. A dipper filled from the sea had as well be 
called the sea as two hours of life drawn from the vastness 
of existence be called a play. Now, this does not mean that 
Nature is opposed to art, or that art is opposed to Nature. 
The very artificiality of the drama is but a means of reduc- 
ing your Material to Life. The drama, a play, can be but 
a part of life. So far as the actual playing of it on the stage 
is concerned it should conform exactly to life, and it will 
require all your skill to make it do that. The significance 
of what is here said will come to you only with experience. 
A play is built up like a house, out of Nature; in the one 
case out of Material that is inanimate, in the other out of 
material that is active and alive. Surely, the novel deals 
with life, the very same Material, and poems likewise, but 
they are often wholly unsusceptible of being converted into 
drama. It is a matter of form. It is more a matter of form 
than it is of life ; for a play can be laid in the clouds, with 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE LIFE 183 

its characters imaginary creatures, and still it will be a 
play, because of its form. But life when used for the pur- 
pose of the drama cannot be without dramatic form. The 
drama is a form of expression of Life, and admits Life only 
under its own conditions. For present purposes an illus- 
tration outside of the plays in hand will be sufficient. In 
the Drama of "Ben Hur" there is an act laid in the Grove of 
Daphne. Ben Hur watches the festivities and the dancing. 
Every incident in it might have occurred in life, but there is 
a momentary lapse in the continuity of the Action. If we 
knew that he were in search of the man who had robbed 
him of mother and sister or that he had given up his search 
for information about his lost mother and sister, and that 
if he remained a witness of this Scene he might find some 
clue, it would be more dramatic; we would have some- 
thing to build our hopes on, for, as is said in reference to 
Action, Action is made up of the hopes and expectations 
and interest of the audience. Whenever and wherever the 
Action ceases it becomes Mere Life and ceases to be drama, 
and it is not the less Life when it is and becomes Drama. 
In real Life a wife would weep inconsolably for an indefi- 
nite time over the loss of a loved one, but in a play it would 
not be entertainment to listen to a woman's sobs for three 
hours. Then, if you recognize that Life is subject to the 
laws of the drama in this one particular case, why not 
make it subject in all particulars? In the plays upon which 
this investigation is based you will find few examples of a 
lapse from the dramatic into Mere Life. Perhaps you may. 
Try it. When you reach constructive work, when you be- 
gin working on plays and original exercises, in all likeli- 
hood, you will find yourself constantly lapsing into Mere 
Life. The difference between Life and Drama, is very lit- 
tle, but that little makes all the difference in the world. It 
would be Life if a young man talked to a young woman 
about the weather, and very commonplace ; but if the audi- 
ence saw before he met her that he intended to propose 
to her and was too bashful to think of anything but the 



184 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

weather, it would become dramatic. Perhaps a better way 
of stating what is meant to be conveyed by this is : 
that Mere Life is not necessarily Action or Drama. You 
will observe that whenever a Scene or passage in a play 
begins (and continues, for that matter) to bore you it is 
usually because the Action has. ceased and the play is no 
longer dramatic in the technical sense. Why is it that the 
love Scene between Claude Melnotte and Pauline where he 
describes his palace by the lake to which he would take her, 
if he had his wish, is not Mere Life? It could have hap- 
pened in Life. It is Life, but what gives it its interest? 
Remember that a drama requires Action, and that without 
it it is Mere Life ; and that a Drama requires Sequence, a 
certain arrangement of happenings, doubt as to the issue, 
obstacle, and various other definite elements. Drama is 
lurking all about us in real life ; we see it and experience it 
every day, every time we laugh, or cry or experience a 
hope. And when we attempt to put it into a play the 
Drama welcomes us, but with a stern authority. An inex- 
perienced writer can so arrange his Material, innocently 
thinking that he had a play, that there would not be a 
particle of drama in it. And yet, as said, it is almost impos- 
sible to escape Drama in real Life, for Life is made up of 
doubt, which is the very essence of Drama. This infatua- 
tion with Mere "Life" is the bane of the amateur. But when 
he becomes a professional in his knowledge he knows how 
to give real Action to that Life. Turn now to the ending 
of the fourth act of "Ingomar," beginning with page 42, 
where Parthenia and Ingomar appear on the cliff. All 
you have to do to convert all that follows into Mere Life 
is to have them, as soon as they appear, begin to 
talk lovingly, everything settled, he determined to go with 
her to the city, &c. True, you would not have the same 
ending to the act, but you could get any amount of Detail 
and talk which would be true to Life, but you would have 
converted those finely dramatic Scenes into Mere Life, and 
in representation it would bore an audience beyond ex- 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE LIFE 185 

pression. Mere "Life" on the stage is the most abhorrent 
of all things. Give up the delusion that mere fidelity to 
life is the one characteristic of the Drama. "Holding up 
the mirror to Life" will not secure a true reflection unless 
the mirror is held at the proper dramatic angle. 

In a properly constructed and well written play like 
"The Lady of Lyons" it is practically useless to look for 
examples of Mere Life. It is almost impossible for a dra- 
matist, a real dramatist, to use Mere Life ; it is almost 
equally impossible for an inexperienced one not to do so. 
The danger from it confronts the beginner always, and it is 
useful in the analysis of a play to discover this "means of 
weakness and debility." This Mere Life may even lie 
perdue somewhere in a real dramatist's play and cause 
failure. We can only profit from this play on this point 
by seeing what would have been Mere Life if the author 
had not exercised his art. If, in the last act, Damas and 
Melnotte had gone to the house of the Deschappelles know- 
ing that Pauline was true and not faithless, we would have 
had the material for a series of incidents, but it would not 
have been drama; the elements of doubt, the essence of 
Action, the Unexpected, Cause and Effect, would have 
been absent. It would have been Mere life. The last act, 
in that event, could have been over in two minutes and 
a half, or it might have been devoted to talk of indefinite 
length, hours of it. You, the celebrated and rich Col. 
Morier are Melnotte? Oh my, oh my! what battles were 
you in? Did you see much of Napoleon? Howdy do, 
Cousin Damas, why didn't you tell me? And so it might 
run, this interminable stream of life, Mere Life, the Gulf 
Stream of the amateur. As it is, the entire play is Life but 
not Mere Life ; it is dramatic life. If we could see exactly 
what is to be the outcome in the last act it would be Life, 
but lifeless life. Life without Action is impossible in the 
drama. Exposition of the relations of Life to the princi- 
ples of the drama must await further discussion. This life 
must conform to the requirements of the drama, and is 



1 86 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

available only if it can be subjected to structure. Again, 
it depends upon the way in which it is used. The very 
same material could be so used that the effect would be 
Mere Life. Pauline and her mother could have conveyed to 
us in conversation all that is beheld in the first set scene. 

In a thoroughly dramatic play, it is not possible to find 
any of what we technically call Mere Life. What we do 
find is Life reduced to dramatic terms. It is identical with 
Life, and is Life itself, within the restriction of the drama. 
This statement should be absolutely conclusive as to the 
happenings, the characters and the Action in "Camille," 
for it is obviously as close a transcript of life as may be 
found in a drama. If an author ever knew his subject and 
his play, it was Dumas in this play. We may assume 
that all the characters and many of the facts existed in his 
mind from his own experience before he translated them all 
into a play. In our discussion of Action and Episode else- 
where we have shown how very close some of the scenes 
come to Mere Life, saved from it only by the skill and tech- 
nical purpose of the dramatist. We have only to refer to 
the supper scene and the episodes of the last act. Having 
assumed and demonstrated that there is no life in the objec- 
tionable sense in the play, our only profitable exercise can 
be in translating the dramatic life of "Camille" back again 
into the mere life from which it was derived. This may 
be done in many different ways. One of the char- 
acteristics of mere life is lack of Unity. If we destroy 
the Unity of the Plot or of any of the many elements in a 
play, we might begin the work of tearing down what 
drama has built up. Drama never takes a part for the 
whole. It is never satisfied with imperfection when that 
imperfection amounts to an insufficiency. If the play had 
half a dozen main objects, it might have many scenes of 
momentary interest, and those scenes might be absolutely 
true to life, but it would not be drama, and consequently 
not dramatic life. We could destroy the drama in a play 
by disarranging the Sequence of events. Much that hap- 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE UFE 1 87 

pens in this play might have happened without the Se- 
quence at present in the play. We would have become ac- 
quainted with facts in their wrong order and , the 
effect would be entirely different. The interest 
would be entirely different. The interest would not 
be sustained and drama would be lost. If convey- 
ed by means of Story there would be no drama. 
One departure from dramatic methods would lead to 
other departures, and defects would be piled upon 
defects. By means of wrong Sequence and Story the 
Unexpected would be destroyed. In Life, practically any- 
thing may happen and in any order. Why could not Var- 
ville know in the opening of the play that he had a pros- 
pective rival in Armand? It is useless to reply to this that 
the facts do not permit it, for we must remember that all 
the facts in this Material used by Dumas were inchoate 
to begin with. It is true that there could have been more 
than one Sequence, but that Sequence must not be a chance 
Sequence of Life, but according to the dramatic arrange- 
ment of the author. If Varville had known of Armand's 
love and of his family, he might have consumed an indefi- 
nite time in disclosing out of their order these facts which 
are involved in the proper dramatic progress of the play. 
The Action would have been destroyed by means of this 
anticipation. Again, if the play had no proper development, 
Characters would constantly have to be informed of what 
had happened and there would be an unendurable amount 
of repetition. In other words, you must make life conform 
to the needs of the drama. If Varville had known of the 
danger of a rival, his whole attitude toward Camille would 
have changed and he could not be got rid of so easily be- 
fore the supper. Of course, it would not have been impos- 
sible for Dumas to have made Varville know of the danger 
of a rival from the beginning, but the Action would have 
taken a different course. He would have made it dramatic, 
but, in any event, he would have had to translate life into 
drama. A dramatist must certainly right against the pos- 



l88 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

sibilities of Life. What would be more natural in the last 
act than to have Armand expected? It would be life, but it 
would destroy the present Action completely. We have 
in another chapter called attention to Dumas' device of 
withholding from the audience even the fact that Camille 
had received a letter from Armand's father six weeks be- 
fore the opening of the act. It might be said that it would 
not be an impossible dramatic Sequence to have this Mono- 
logue in which this fact is disclosed come at the begin- 
ning of the act. But the dramatist is always looking for 
the dramatic and constant improvement of the dramatic. 
He gets as far away from Mere Life as he can. We show, 
in its proper place, why the Episode in which Prudence bor- 
rows the money is Action. Take that Action out of it and 
it would still be Life, but it would not be Dramatic Life. 
Could you demand a closer example of dramatic conditions? 
Indeed, the happenings of this play could be presented in 
such a way that there would be no Plot. It could be reduc- 
ed to Life by means of destroying the Cause and Effect. 
Nothing could be easier than to give certain effects and to 
explain them afterwards. 

The definition of Drama, brief as it is, expressly states 
in one of its clauses that it is an imitation of Life. It is 
more to afford the illusion of Life, so that, without now 
dwelling upon the definitions and differences involved be- 
tween Life and the imitation of it, we may conveniently 
say that the aim of the Drama is the reproduction of Life. 
Many "dramatists," however, imagine that the reproduc- 
tion of Life is all that is required. We have advanced far 
enough in these exercises to become convinced that every- 
thing is referable back to structure. Mere Life has no 
standing in Court. Thinking for yourself, you must have 
observed that a number of these principles are corollary 
principles, fundamental as they are. Thus, we find that in 
their nearest relation Mere Words, Mere Business, and 
Mere Life, for example, are subordinate to Action. They 
are governed by other things also, but more directly by 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE LIFE 189 

Action. Now, Mere Life could be illustrated by the same 
examples which we have in Mere Business and Mere 
Words; but there is ,a distinction in each case, as for ex- 
ample, Business does not necessarily require Words. In 
short, the mistake of Mere Life for Drama by the "drama- 
tists" proceeds from a general or partial misunderstanding 
or lack of understanding of dramatic law. If you or I were 
to undertake to write a scene in the place of the present 
first scene of "Still Waters Run Deep" we might make it 
very animated perhaps, very interesting, full of repartee, 
full of human nature, entirely true to all the facts in the 
case, and yet it might not be Drama. It would not be Dra- 
ma if we wrote Subjectively and not Objectively in the 
sense of we, ourselves, understanding everything that was 
said and done, but withholding from the audience the same 
understanding. Let us suppose that the scene opened in the 
same room with Emily and Mrs. Sternhold engaged in con- 
versation. There are infinite bits of talk and Business that 
could be introduced which would be perfectly true to Life. 
Suppose they talk at great length about Mr. Mildmay, but 
without giving to the audience the slightest hint as to who 
Mr. Mildmay is. This may seem absurd as a matter of writ- 
ing by any "dramatist," but it is a very common thing to 
be seen in manuscripts. The author knows everything, the 
audience knows nothing, and yet the scene could have hap- 
pened in Life in every detail and in every word and in 
every emotion ; but if there was any fun going the charac- 
ters on the stage would have it all to themselves, with the 
"dramatist" a self-deluded and imaginary spectator, or, if a 
real spectator, immensely pleased, wondering why the audi- 
ence seemed so dreadfully bored. It would be Life, but 
might be absolutely without Proposition, Plot, Sequence, 
Objectivity of the right kind, and, for many reasons, not a 
scene of a play, however true it might be to Life. It would 
be profitable for a student to write a few such scenes by 
way of exercise. The student may be inclined to think 
that he understands exactly what is meant by Mere Life, 



I90 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

but a material aim of the exercise work is to make sure 
that he understands it, and to have him so disgust himself 
by a sufficient amount of exercise in writing Mere Life 
scenes that he will, by no possibility, in his own original 
dramatic work, fall into any delusion and mistake. Some 
of these scenes from "Real Life/' of which the ignorant 
are so fond of prating, would be Drama in certain circum- 
stances, and again, they could not possibly be used for dra- 
matic purposes. This is always the case when the scene 
is not confined to one main object; it might not be a scene 
at all in the dramatic sense. In "Real Life" perhaps, a pre- 
ponderating number of people cannot keep their minds 
upon and hold the conversation to one thing for two min- 
utes at a time. Very often the divergence of conversation 
in Real Life may afford a certain animation. In Real Life 
Mrs. Sterhold may have had some friend, not now in the 
play, to whom she may have confided her trouble with 
Hawksley and his threat and have requested him to secure 
the letters. It is obvious that this would have destroyed all 
Unity in the play, and have required a different Proposi- 
tion, consequently, if such a friend had existed, he would 
have had to be eliminated from the scheme of the play. 
That would have been dreadful, wouldn't it, to have laid a 
destructive hand on Life? Potter might have told Mildmay 
of his suspicions about Emily and Hawksley. It is true 
that he had no confidence in the manliness of his son-in- 
law, but it would not have been unnatural for him to have 
done so. You can see what a disturbing effect it would 
have had on the Action of the play. This might also have 
been the first scene in Real Life. In point of fact, there are 
thousands of Sequences in which what we now see in the 
play may have happened. Perhaps somewhere in the play 
there should be a scene between Gimlet and Mildmay. But 
in order to determine whether this would have been wise 
technically, it would require an amount of investigation 
that would involve considerable thought. At any rate, 
such a scene could have taken place in a play on this ma- 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE UFE I9I 

terial reproducing the real facts. Unquestionably, Mild- 
may had many interviews with Gimlet, and, in fact, did 
see him off stage during the Action of the play. If Taylor 
had to rely upon Mere Life for his play he might never 
have been able to write it, for he would have had to follow 
the happenings exactly in their order of happening. So it 
is that Sequence determines how we are to use Life. The 
whole aim of Taylor was to reduce everything to Life, but 
not necessarily to follow the original form of his Material. 
This drama is a rearrangement even of the reproduction 
of Life in the novel which suggested it. Even if many of 
the dramatic requirements were in perfect Sequence and 
form in actual Life, there would be sure to be something 
lacking which would require an addition to the real Life. 
We must add to and subtract from it according to techni- 
cal necessities. In Life Mildmay may have overheard Mrs. 
Sternhold's opinion of him as expressed to Emily while he 
pretended to be asleep on some other occasion. In Life 
Emily may not have used the knotted handkerchief to drive 
the fly away from her husband's face, but in the play it 
was necessary for Mildmay to overhear Mrs. Sternhold's 
remark without her knowing it, and then for him to be got- 
ten off the stage. The knotted handkerchief was used for 
the technical purpose of giving him an exit. It was not 
Emily's purpose, but the author's purpose. Inasmuch as 
dramas are, after all, not drawn from real Life in their en- 
tirety, but come from the process of imagination and rea- 
soning, the life that is depicted is a compromise, conse- 
quently those people who pretend to go back to real life are 
unconsciously betraying ignorance of dramatic method. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is as nearly imperisha- 
ble as a play can be because it is so true to Life. It leaves 
the impression of actuality in spite of the verse form. 
Genius like Massinger's has the insight that can get at 
truth in the characters and circumstances within its hori- 
zon and environment. It does not need to take flight to 
some distant sphere and to depend upon imagination. It 



192 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

can idealize while it remains realistic. Lady Allworth and 
Lord Lovell are ideal figures, but human. There is no 
Mere Life in this play, because it all belongs to the Action. 
But even so it could have dropped into Mere Life had it 
been improperly managed. By referring to the discussion 
of Episode in this play you will see why it is that scenes 
which start out with a certain independence of the Plot 
and Action are not Mere Life. The first Episode, that of 
the servants, would be Mere Life if the Audience was ex- 
pecting some definite progress in the Action at this point, 
and if the servants had been presented in a meaningless 
exhibition of themselves, or if they had exhibited perfectly 
natural traits of character which had no connection with the 
Action. No progress is made in the Action of the Plot in 
this scene, but we are led to expect something in the devel- 
opment of conditions. The first scene in the second act 
between Sir Giles and Marrall would be Mere Life if noth- 
ing were to come of his character and his designs against 
Wellborn. Make them talk about any other thing than 
that which bears on the traits of character from which Well- 
born is to suffer and has suffered, and it would not be to the 
purpose. Let Lady Allworth and Lord Lovell discuss the 
qualities needed in a soldier, (as she does with Tom) they 
would be doing something that would be natural enough in 
Life, but they are not permitted to do so in the play. Merely 
to show Character in that way would be too remote from 
the real concern of the Action. Talk may be devoted to 
abstractions in Life, but not in a play. If Lady Allworth 
had gone one step further when she told her maids to sort 
the silk and had given details about it, it would have been 
Life, Mere Life, because wholly Unnecessary to the Action. 
It was useful if not absolutely Necessary for her to be 
shown, and this particular bit of Life was required for a 
technical reason ; the maids were to be used in the incidents 
of the appearance of Wellborn. Lady Allworth's entrance 
was made lifelike by the touch of what was in no degree 
disturbing. 



CHAPTER XVII. 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY. 

You have seen what Action is and what it is not r 
both serving to keep you from the many mistakes that are 
universally and continually made by the novice. The drama 
depending always on what happens NOW, before the eye, 
whatever is said or done must affect the characters and 
the Action in the present time. Things have to happen in 
a given order or the play falls into Story. A play must be 
acted in all its material parts. Story is that material some- 
thing which is told whereas it should be acted. By this to- 
ken, at least, you may perceive it most plainly. The Dis- 
ease of Story in a play has many symptoms. Expression by 
means of words is not necessarily Story, and Story is not 
confined to words. An essential thing may be acted and 
not told and yet be Story because out of Sequence. 
The acting or telling of something in advance of its proper 
place of communication to the audience is also Story. Cer- 
tain essential things must be withheld until they can pro- 
perly happen. In a really good play, after the Action is 
once set going, everything that happens should happen by 
reason of what has happened in preceding scenes. "Ingo- 
mar" is a fine example of the entire absence of Story or any 
occasion for it. True, something of the past, not seen, may 
at times have to be narrated, but it is always something that 
affects the Action of the moment. The present time always. 
Every play has what is called the Conditions Precedent. 
Now, Story can creep into a play in many ways, and it often 
does so when the Conditions Precedent are inexpertly 
handled. 

In "Ingomar" among the Conditions Precedent are 
that Parthenia lives in Massillia, the daughter of a poor 
armorer; is now of a marriageable age, and her mother 
13 



194 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

wants her to marry an aged and repulsive suitor, who is a 
miser. The neighboring tribes are savages or barbarians 
who often take captive and hold for hostage the citizens of 
Massillia. Massillia is governed by a Timarch. Parthe- 
nia's parents are needy. Her mother wishes her to marry 
a rich old miser. She is heartwhole and fancy free. These 
Facts and many other Conditions and Details exist before 
the Action begins. The play is unusually free from active 
dramatic happenings before the rise of the curtain, but the 
conditions for the Action are perfect. The beginner is al- 
ways impatient to get in all his facts immediately. In this 
play they are brought out only as the Action calls for them. 
The Facts are certainly not told by any of the characters 
simply for the information of the audience. The dramatist 
must distinguish, in his Material, the Conditions Precedent 
in order to be able to handle them in the proper way. 

A play is defective where it is conveyed by means of 
Story, in which Words are involved. In fact there should 
be no Story in the strict technical sense. It is not by 
Words alone that Story may creep into a play. Story is 
where essential things are described and not represented, 
if it is essential that they be seen in the Action. It would 
be Story if Beauseant, in "The Lady of Lyons," while try- 
ing to devise with Glavis some means of revenge, had be- 
thought him of Melnotte, and had told Glavis of the cir- 
cumstances of his being called "The Prince;" but 
the true method was followed by Bulwer in having 
Melnotte heard acclaimed the "Prince" in the shouts 
of the peasants. The further account of Melnotte 
as given in words by the Landlord is not Story, for 
the essential thing has been established and the rest is de- 
tail. It is not Story wh,en Gaspar tells of his treatment. 
On the contrary, if there were a scene showing this treat- 
ment, it would be Story, because unnecessary. The essen- 
tial thing is the return of Gaspar smarting from a beating 
and the effect of his message on the hopeful Melnotte. In 
a Story in the shape of a novel such a scene might be de- 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY I95 

scribed, for the medium used in the novel is words, but in 
this play such a scene would have destroyed all interest in 
the very scene in which he tells of his treatment. It is not 
Story at the opening of the last act where we learn of 
Morier. If the facts had been brought out in another way 
through a monologue by Damas, it would have closely ap- 
proached Story. It would have been undramatic. Several 
new characters had to be created to keep it from becoming 
story. If in the last act Melnotte and Pauline had held an 
interview in which she told of her father's bankruptcy, and 
we had not the visible facts in this scene before us, it 
would have been Story to the extent of robbing the Action 
of its details and progression. There being no Story in 
plays like this our only way is to imagine how what is now 
dramatic might be converted into Story. 

Various disarrangements create Story, but more of this 
later. 

In making a study of "Camille" with reference to Story in 
its objectionable sense, we are again confronted with the 
impossibility of rinding examples of it in a thoroughly dra- 
matic play. The introduction of narrative in order to get 
into the Action the Conditions Precedent by telling the 
things which are matters of course and which have origi- 
nally happened and do not need to be shown, is not Story 
in the objectionable sense of being undramatic. It 
would be a confusion of terms to describe as Story Nan- 
ine's account of Camille's experience in being denied ad- 
mission into society under the patronage of the Due de 
Meuriac. There are many details in this account given by 
Nanine, but they are of the past, and we are concerned 
simply with the results and the bearing of this past on the 
present. Again, it is not Story in the last act where the 
letter from Armand's father tells us of what has happened 
since the duel. The happenings are logical and readily 
accepted. We find here also many details, that Varville is 
out of danger, that six weeks have passed, that Duval has 
written to Armand, and that Armand quitted France, and 



I96 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

that the father in writing to him told him of Camille's sac- 
rifice. Both in Nanine's recital and in this letter the im- 
portant things concern the present. If, for any reason, 
these facts should be acted, these scenes would be Story. 
It would be easy to divert much of what has 
been done and said by Nichette and Gustave into 
Story. If Nichette had not been shown in the second scene 
of the first act as a working girl, and if Nanine had engaged 
in a conversation with Varville, in the course of which she 
had told of the life of Camille as an embroideress and of 
her association with Nichette, it would have been Story. 
It may be said that this Story would have served. That 
may be, but not properly within the conditions of this dra- 
ma and its plain requirements. It is not enough that one 
method may serve, it depends upon the artistic manage- 
ment of the material. A case might be imagined in which 
the present effect of telling the story of Nichette and Gus- 
tave would have been strong enough to justify the Story, 
but not as this play stands. Practically the whole play 
could not only be told, but could be acted in story fashion. 
It takes many touches to make the dramatic. If there had 
been no cause shown for Nanine to tell the life of Camille 
to Varville, it would have been Story, because it would 
have been intended for the audience and not for Varville. 
In a certain diluted story fashion there might have been 
some Action in this according to our ultimate analysis of 
what Action is, namely, the effect upon the audience, but 
Action by way of information is a very slight part of Ac- 
tion. The whole story of Armand's love and the two years 
of silence might easily have been conveyed to the audience 
in story fashion, but Dumas used the true dramatic method 
in considering the Characters first. It is very easy for an 
inexperienced dramatist to fall into the Story meth- 
od • in developing his play in his eagerness to con- 
vey facts to the audience at once. Thus, it is 
plain that the danger and the evil of story telling may 
be traced back to the mistake that an inexperienced author 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY 197 

so often makes in trying to get into direct personal com- 
munication with the audience. Again, all the facts about 
Armand's family might have been conveyed by him to 
Camille in his interview with her. In an awkward way 
that might have served, but a dramatist is measured by 
the niceties of his art. He considers always all the bearings 
of the Action, and is not concerned solely with Story. The 
larger Action requires that the other characters take no 
interest in his reference to his sister, consequently, there 
is something more than Story in his telling of his family. 
The use of the term "mere" has a direct value in treatment. 
Mere Story, Mere Life, Mere Business, mere anything is 
an abomination and an impossibility in the drama. Many 
plays fail because they have too much Story. It depends 
upon treatment. It is Story or it is Action according to the 
happenings. The gossip about the yellow carriage would 
seem to be story, and would be Story if it meant anything 
in and for itself. But the purpose is not to tell the story, 
but to show the frivolity of Camille's companions. Ca- 
mille's relations with Due de Meuriac during the progress 
of the play would seem to be Story, but they are not, for 
the only material things in it are that he sends her money 
and that he naturally withdraws his support. If his pres- 
ence in the Action were needed, then all that concerns him 
if merely told would be Story. When Prudence re- 
turns in the second act and tells Camille of Armand's state 
of mind and his wish to see her, it is not Story, for the 
most important thing at this moment is Camille's state of 
agitation and the necessity of ridding herself of Varville 
If Prudence's account of Armand's state of mind had not 
been to the purpose, and if it had concerned the mere con- 
dition of affairs, it would have been Story. If she had re- 
tailed to Camille what Armand himself tells her in the 
interview which shortly follows between them, it would 
have been Story. And it is plain that we can convert Ac- 
tion into Story by having one character speak the words 
which belong to another. We have already shown why the 



I98 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

talk between Nichette and Gaston and Camille about 
Gustave's first case as a lawyer is not Story. Its use is of 
the present, and the fact that Gustave's first client was 
condemned to ten years hard labor is of no consequence 
in itself. The story has simply an indirect value and is 
dramatic, not because of the Story, but because of the 
effect of it in the scene. It is not Story when we are told 
in the last act of the marriage of Gustave and Nichette, for 
we did not have to see this marriage, and their return to 
her just before her death is controlling in its nature. It is 
not Story when we are told of Gaston's reconciliation with 
his mother, for the fact as told is of controlling importance 
and is of the present time. Story is also brought into a 
play by means of lack of Preparation. This being absent 
intelligent expectation is lacking and the "Action" at once 
falls into Story, for it is not Self-Explanatory. .Again, if 
Indirection were not used, Story would take its place. If 
facts were not seen, Story would have to supply the ab- 
sence of necessary visible proof. 

In a good play there is no Story in the undramatic sense. 
In order to make a profitable exercise upon any principle 
which is not misapplied in a given play, (and consequently 
a good play in that respect), we must invent misapplica- 
tions that might be made by the inexpert writer. The work 
of analysis would become perfunctory if the student fol- 
lowed one form or model all the time, and was not on the 
lookout for the various proper forms of application and the 
innumerable forms and aspects of misapplication. It would 
be traveling around in a circle, whereas analysis is meant 
for the discovery of virtues and defects real or possible in 
all their forms. The material for a play, with its Condi- 
tions Precedent, is almost invariably in the form of Story. 
The Material as it is collected in the notes or in the mind 
of the writer, if he is a dramatist, gradually become more 
and more dramatic. Let us, in this exercise, consider the 
improper handling of the material by an amateur, who may 
be described as one who does not know his business or art 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY 199 

thoroughly. He may know it superficially and have some 
understanding of the fundamental principles ; but he knows 
it just as one who may have travelled over the waters of 
the bay and river and sound of New York knows them. He 
may point out localities, he may have a picture in his mind 
of the general outlines, but he does not have that complete 
knowledge which is essential to the pilot, who must know 
all the shallows and depths and rocks. In other words, to 
put any knowledge to practical use he who would use it 
must know it all. 

The inexpert writer or "dramatist" would be inclined to 
set forth at once in his "play" all that which is contained 
in our worked out exercise on the Conditions Precedent. 
Let us further suppose that he developed after his fashion, 
the natural one to him of telling a Story, all the Condi- 
tions Precedent and all that happens in "Still Waters Run 
Deep" in the form of a novel or a Story. He would natu- 
rally first give an account of Hawksley, describing his char- 
acter, his career and his business methods. He would tell 
of the forged note, of Mildmay's former employment in the 
same house, of Hawksley's attentions to Emily before her 
marriage with Mildmay, and would proceed in the develop- 
ment of a Story with reference to the time of all occur- 
rences, beginning at the beginning. He would make an in- 
teresting Story, and so far as the Material is concerned, ex- 
actly the same thing as the drama which we now have. All 
the facts would be there, all the characters and their charac- 
teristics and all the happenings, but they would be 
presented in a different order. You will at once re- 
cognize the principle which would make such a vast 
difference in the form used, the difference between Story 
and Drama, as Sequence. We do not stop to dwell upon 
all the difficulties involved between the telling and the 
acting. That study belongs to the further pursuit of the 
analysis. We will assume that this Material elaborated 
into the form of a novel by the inexpert "dramatist" is 
dialogued after being divided into Acts and Scenes. It 



200 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

would still be Story, not only because of the difference in 
the Sequence, but because of a hundred other differences. 
Thus you will see that Story is not confined to the mere 
telling of a thing. This novel or Story so dialogued might, 
at various points, coincide with a proper dramatic version 
of the Material, and might intermittently be truly drama- 
tic, but just as one must know the whole art to write a play 
properly, so must the whole play be dramatic. A play 
that is half Story and half drama may be just as bad as a 
play that is all Story. The very minute you go wrong you 
stir up a nest of hornets. The imperfections and the vio- 
lations of principle attack you venomously on all sides. If 
you were able intelligently to consult all the principles you 
would see where you had made your first misstep and had 
then violated and outraged them all. Dialogue and Material 
without a proper Sequence, and without a consideration of 
the proper structure, will destroy unexpectedness, logic, 
effect, everything. Assuming that you do not get every- 
thing wrong, you get enough wrong to destroy your play. 
It is obvious from what has been said above, that playwrit- 
ing consists largely in converting Story into Drama. This 
converting Story into Drama is not confined to converting 
the past into the present. The amateur will often convert 
the future into the present. If the Material is dramatic, it 
is almost impossible to destroy every bit of the drama in it, 
and because a little bit of this drama, in spots, remains, the 
amateur is deluded into thinking his work is a drama. If 
we take up the first scene in "Still Waters Run Deep" we 
find that it must have been written after the structure of 
the play had been decided upon. If one does not make his 
structure perfect, or at least serviceable to his dramatic use, 
he will inevitably fall into Story. Emily and Mrs. Stern- 
hold might have had a scene in the beginning of the play, 
(remembering that we have abandoned all ideas of struc- 
ture and are writing offhand, and not having in our minds 
at all the possibilities of this first scene] in which they could 
have discussed Tennyson, and Emily's romanticism could 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY 201 

have been shown. They could have talked of 
Hawksley and how near Emily came to marrying 
him; they could have described his business, his 
brilliancy and his appearance, and could have talked 
at some length on the prosaic nature of Mildmay and 
their idea as to his weak character. In short, they could 
have used up so much material by way of Story, that a 
dozen scenes in the present Action could have been de- 
stroyed. It would have been Story. It would have been a 
use of the details of the Material in their wrong order. 
There could have been a scene between Mildmay and Pot- 
ter in which they might have talked of the dominating 
character of Mrs. Sternhold. Thus we would have had a 
second scene utterly destructive of other scenes as they 
now properly exist, and the whole material might have 
been so wasted in Story that the entire act would have been 
without effect. In Story fashion the Act would have been 
exhausted in one third the space now given to it. We would 
have seen little or nothing and heard a great deal. We 
would not have seen the thing itself. The tendency to tell 
things instead of showing them would have prevented cer- 
tain of the most effective scenes that we now have from 
even entering into the mind of the "dramatist." The "dra- 
matist" with the Story habit might have omitted the scene 
between Emily and Hawksley. He might have omitted 
the scene between Mrs. Sternhold and Hawksley in which 
Hawksley threatens her with exposure by publishing the 
letters. He might have had the scene offstage and had her 
tell Mildmay about the interview, describing it perhaps in 
a very animated way, but this would not have taken the 
place of the scene itself. Certain parts of the Material and 
Action must be in the form of Scenes. When the dramatist 
determines upon what he must use in the form of Scenes, 
he then has left a part of his Material which can be told, 
and this telling does not constitute "Story." It is not Story 
when Potter confides to Mrs. Sternhold his suspicion that 
the relations between Hawksley and Emily are too inti- 



202 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

mate. It is the fact of his suspicion that is Objective, and 
it is of Action all compact. In the first place, it would 
have been impossible for us to have had presented to us on 
the stage happenings of the past which have caused Potter 
to be suspicious. Potter's suspicion is surely made Objec- 
tive, is it not? What has happened is of nothing like as 
important as what is going to happen Objectively between 
Emily and Hawksley. What does happen between the 
weakly sentimental woman and the seductive rascally 
swindler is of the utmost importance and complicates the 
Action which has been visible from the start. It is not 
Story when we are told that Hawksley had been a suitor 
of Emily's before her marriage to Mildmay. It belongs to 
the category of Potter's suspicion. It did not have to be 
shown or otherwise proved. Those things of which we 
cannot make a scene of the present moment must necessa- 
rily be subordinated to and included in such scenes as are 
essential. Narrative is not necessarily "Story." Some of 
the confusion of the idea in relation to Story comes from 
the different meanings of the word. In consequence of this 
I sometimes adopt the device of quoting "Story" when it is 
meant in the undramatic sense. The Story of a play is that 
which is contained in its Proposition and Plot. Again, 
Story could easily be applied to the synopsis or Scenario 
of a play; but both uses of the term indicate something 
distinctly different from "Story/' It must be confessed that 
Hawksley's past career, particularly with reference to the 
forged bill, looks very much like "Story." But, on the 
whole, it might be well claimed that Taylor's use of his 
material and the way in which he has introduced the past 
constitute the best Treatment in the circumstances. Taylor 
was a very voluminous dramatist, and the play bears some 
marks of haste in composition. It is a dramatization of a 
novel, and may have been done to order. Certainly the im- 
pression of truth as to this forgery is conveyed in every par- 
ticular. If a play of four or rive acts had been called for 
Taylor might have probably made more of this forgery. 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY 203 

He might have gone into more detail about it, and had 
other characters involved in the proof. He might have 
made more of it Objective, with some changes in the Plot. 
But the moral depravity of Hawksley is so thoroughly 
proved that we accept Mildmay's narrative as absolutely 
true. The effect of the narrative and the production of the 
bill exchanged for the letters are in themselves concuusive 
proof. That Gimlet has been searching for proof and 
finally gets into his possession the remaining bill makes a 
fact of what Mildmay tells. It is the nearest approach to 
Story that we have in any of the plays which we have 
analyzed. Our object is not to be academic, and it is pro- 
fitable for us to closely question everything that seems to 
be irregular. If Taylor had made more of the notes and 
had added one or two more acts, the play would have been 
more of a melodrama, and the interest might have turned 
too largely on the punishment of Hawksley in itself. The 
balance would not have been kept between the main and 
the minor problems in the Proposition, namely, whether 
Mildmay could defeat Hawksley's financial rascality, and 
incidentally regain the mastery of his own household. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is so concrete, so com- 
pact, so full of Action, subjective and objective, that there 
is no "Story" in it. It has an extraordinary number of Con- 
ditions Precedent, but it is never mere story. Everything 
is brought out by the necessities of the dialogue between 
the characters. The greater part of the first scene is taken 
up with an account of Old Sir John Wellborn, the riotous 
living of the young man which has brought him so low, 
the ingratitude of Tapwell, &c. It is much of the past, 
but the thing of living interest is of the present. There is 
not a detail that does not really concern the present more 
than the past. What has happened before the rise of the 
curtain is merely incidental to what is now happening, and 
we would not take the slightest interest in what is told ex- 
cept for the present conditions and the Action going on be- 
fore our eyes. Let us suppose that this first scene had been 



204 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

omitted and the play should open with Wellborn standing 
outside the alehouse when Tom Allworth appears. Well- 
born could have told him all that had happened, but which 
we have not seen. That would have been in the nature 
of Story; but whether it would be story depends upon the 
circumstances and the object of the author. If the happen- 
ings had been unimportant, it would not necessarily fall 
under the designation of "Story." But it was something 
that had to be shown. Consequently, if Wellborn had merely 
recited it it would have been story. Wellborn's humiliation 
is the very keynote of the play. It is because of it that he 
determines to mend his ways and his fortunes. The talk 
between Tom Allworth and Wellborn is not Story, because 
we get the conditions out of which the Action is to pro- 
ceed; we accept them for the moment and we await their 
verification. The statements are to be made facts as we 
proceed. The facts are living and promise even more for 
the future than they afford of the present so far as the in- 
terest is concerned. What we hear is cumulative. The talk 
between Sir Giles and Marrall is not Story, because what 
they say would have no particular interest in itself, and is 
not told, for example, to interest us in Frugal or the par- 
ticular law suits projected, but in the character of Sir Giles 
in his relation to his nephew. Lady Allworth's advice to 
her step-son is the very antithesis of story, although she 
dwells on the counsel of a husband of whom she has been 
bereft. What Wellborn has said of his relations with that 
husband, what she now says, and what Wellborn is to say 
of him to her all make for an issue of the present moment, 
perilous to the spendthrift. It is very much of the present, 
subordinating the past. If these histories had been told 
without Cause and Effect they would have been sterile, 
story pure and simple, of small interest, inactive. The hap- 
penings of the last act relating to the marriage by the par- 
son would be story if it was necessary to act them out, but 
everything relating to it and leading up to it is so circum- 
stantial that we know it must be true. We know the power 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT STORY 205 

of Sir Giles, and that his word to the parson is ample. 
There is not a single reason to doubt the happenings. The 
play is so solidly built of Fact that it would not be easy, 
by way of exercise, to reduce it to Story. Do not think there 
is Story in Amble's description of the conduct of Marrall at 
Lady Allworth's table. It did not have to be shown, and 
yet it is of the present moment, although it has happened 
off stage. In fact, we can hardly describe it as having hap- 
pened off stage, for Amble is directly from the dining room. 
It is a Preparation for the very next scene, in which we 
have Marrall subdued to a belief in the favor granted to 
Wellborn by Lady Allworth. 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS. 

Your attention is now called to the "Business" of a play. 

Business is the physical expression of the actor's partici- 
pation in the Action of the play, as it concerns him at the 
moment. Naturally, where there are a number of people on 
the stage the Business extends to their disposition and the 
combinations of expression and movement ordered by the 
stage-manager 

The Business and the stage directions in these 
printed plays are to be seen in the bracketed and itali- 
cised passages. Business is one of the means of the expres- 
sion of the Action, sometimes supplementary to the Action 
as expressed in words and sometimes corresponding to the 
Action as expressed in words and sometimes corresponding 
to the Action itself. The actor esteems Business as the very 
life of his art, and in consequence the actor-author attaches 
too much importance to it and is misled. He is apt to be 
fascinated with Mere Business, just as the amateur writer 
is with Mere Life. But now that you have seen that a play 
is constructed from the Proposition up, with a Plot domi- 
nated by one purpose, it must be evident to you that Busi- 
ness must be subordinate and necessarily of the moment. 
Structure comes first and is fixed, then comes the Action, 
without which the play is not complete until acted; and 
the Business to that Action may be different with each 
actor playing a given part. The actor himself, in this way, 
contributes to your play and has considerable latitude. You 
will observe, however, that Business is often incidentally 
provided in the text of a play. It is necessary to garnish 
out the Action in this way. The actor is much more at ease 
if while he is serving as your mouthpiece he is engaged in 
something on his own account. Thus, a woman is seen 
"sewing on a sampler" and at the same time occupied in 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 20"J 

dialogue. While Parthenia talks of love she is provided 
with the Business of weaving the garland of flowers. The 
barbarians have something to do in the way of Business 
when they play at dice. There is nothing merely conven- 
tional about this. If we did not use Business we would not 
be true to the details of life. It belongs to the economy of 
playwriting. It saves words. The author should put in 
the manuscript of his play all such Business as in his con- 
ception is necessary and should not burden it unnecessa- 
rily with directions which are already implied or expressed 
in the text. Much can be left to the stagemanager; he and 
the actor develop the Action by means of Business. A 
stagemanager or an actor-author may be very full in his 
Business and stage directions, but it is best for you not to 
be too full in regard to rising, crossing, place of entrance, 
exit, positions and stage details of the acting. For the pres- 
ent, at least, do not be impatient for information on these 
stage matters. They will be imparted later. This chapter 
is intended to have you read all the plays with reference to 
the Business only to note its value and peculiarities. A pan- 
tomime is all Business, and a play itself may be intelligible 
from its Business alone, but it must all be provided for by 
the previous process of construction. Business, for the 
most part, is a means of expression and is subordinate. It 
is the pictorial and interpretative part of the art. You will 
observe some passages where it is Action itself; you may 
find other passages in which you think the Business could 
be better or different without changing the Action. 

It is important to warn against a process of thought that 
seizes hold of Business too soon. Stage managers, authors 
and actors are prone to be misled by it. For the present, 
note the nature, value and function of Business. An ex- 
perienced author leaves to the actor all Business which 
is plainly implied in the lines and the context. But Bulwer 
directs that Pauline say languidly "Dear Mother, you spoil 
your child." Marian's altering the rose in Pauline's hair 
is good Business. That she has a maid is of consequence 



208 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

and she must be given something to do. Pauline rises dis- 
dainfully as Beauseant approaches her. She goes back to 
the table and takes up the flowers. The Business itself is 
important for no reference has been made to the flowers 
for two scenes, and her Business with them strikes the 
right note just as she makes her exit. If she had had the 
flowers in her hand and made the remark, it would have 
been obvious and disturbing mechanism. Bulwer indicates 
no Business whatever for Damas in his scene with the two 
women. The actor, in playing the part, could have used 
snuff if he chose. But Bulwer had something more im- 
portant in mind than the mere accidental things; he was 
after the essential things. If anything had depended on, or 
was to turn on Damas's taking snuff, he would have had 
it there. Bulwer does not put in all the crossings, but he 
seemed to think that it would be significant to have Beau- 
seant cross to Glavis when the Landlord mentions Pauline 
as the object of Melnotte's love. The Widow's descending 
the stairs during the shouts is good Business. You will 
observe that all the Business here is illustrative. Bulwer 
notes Mad. Deschappelles fanning herself. See how im- 
portant and yet incidental it all is. Bulwer has it. "Mel- 
notte and Pauline pace the stage during this speech, and 
at the end Melnotte stands "L." Mrs. Langtry sat with Mel- 
notte on a marble bench, a convenient place for embrace 
and languishing attitudes. Servants peeping and laughing 
over the shoulder of the Landlord is good Business. Not 
all of Bulwer's Business is usually followed. His Business 
of having the Widow use the staircase so often is curious, 
and it serves a good idea of having her completely out 
of the way at times, and the room upstairs has a value; 
consequently, the Business has a bearing. We take it that 
he is not going to sleep on the same floor with Pauline, 
for his mother takes her upstairs. Besides, it gives oppor- 
tunity for good Business not indicated in the text. In the 
next act he rises and goes to the foot of the staircase and 
listens. The Widow draws back the window curtains, 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 20g 

showing that it is daybreak. The Business of opening the 
lattice and looking in before entering by the door is very 
old. The Widow stands at the door watching the de- 
parture of Melnotte. The Business here employs all the 
people appropriately. M. Deschappelles takes snuff on 
page 50. Bulwer merely gives the essential Business. 

Business is something that, in an overwhelming degree, 
belongs to the art of the actor. An author does not and 
cannot act his own play in all its parts, and it would be 
folly for him to restrict all the business to his own pre- 
scribed directions. Fortunate is the author who has genius 
in the actors added to his own labors to interpret his work. 
No man succeeds in any commercial undertaking who tries 
to do everything himself. The stage manager and actor 
have their functions. Business and "plenty of it," as the 
people close to the stage insist on, is exceedingly import- 
ant and absolutely essential, but the author need concern 
himself only about that which he wishes to fix as a part of 
the Action itself or as to what to him is the best expression, 
or for which an equivalent must be given by the actor. In 
the acting, few plays contain more Business than "Ca- 
mille;" in the text of the play itself the stage direction or 
business is uncommonly meagre. This goes far to prove 
that the Action of a play provides business without the 
need of its being prescribed in every case. It confirms the 
warning we have given the student not to think primarily 
in Business. Business is a detail, a means of expression, 
usually. We may express an idea in many different ways, 
but the idea is the one valuable thing, it matters not what 
synonyms you choose. An author may depend upon his 
conception of a scene for the appropriate behavior of the 
characters. Varville is seen, as the first act opens, sitting,. 
Nanine arranging the furniture. Let us assume that bet- 
ter Business could be devised; still, why should Dumas, at 
this point, have taken out his tape line and measured the 
distance between the two, and the number of steps re- 
quired for each movement? Let the stage manager do 
M 



210 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

that. The Business as to the bundle is essential and it is 
noted by the author. Nichette comes for certain work, and 
there it is in the bundle. It is a bit of Objectivity. It has 
to be. Camille, entering, throws her cloak on a chair. The 
luxury of the opera cloak and the manner of throwing it 
aside express character and habit and provide appropriate 
Business for Camille's entrance. The value of Business 
largely consists in the little incidental something to do. 
It helps to divert the mind of the audience from what 
would otherwise become plain artificiality in the play it- 
self. But much of it is so natural that there is nothing 
technical about it. Varville rises and bows, a matter of 
course. He goes and sits at the fire ; she goes to the piano 
and plays. She wants to get rid of him, and bids him 
good-night. He wants to stay. The Business is not for the 
sake of Business, but it is good Business, and it demon- 
strates how much better it is to go even further than Mere 
Business, that it is a matter of course to find and devise 
Business from the opportunities at hand. There was the 
piano, the fireplace. We may well imagine Dumas taking 
advantage of them for Business, but he was not thinking 
in Business. He had an idea to express. Here is a very 
good example of how to devise Business for the better 
expression of an idea. But it is not primarily thinking in 
Business. "Ugh ! how cold it is ! Monsieur de Varville, do 
pray put some wood on the fire, I am frozen here. Make 
yourself useful, for you are not agreeable." Varville fixes 
the fire. While the professional author tries to provide the 
characters with something to do all the while, the pri- 
mary object of this is to remind the audience of Camille's 
state of health. Varville's drumming on the piano has an- 
other purpose also than Mere Business, but it is an excel- 
lent means, by way of Business, of bringing out Camille's 
impatience at his presence. It is words and feeling plus 
Business. Naturally it is more effective than if it were 
confined to words only. If left to words it would have 
been a repetition without variety of expression. Dumas 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 211 

undoubtedly thought of the piano as a bit of Business, but 
in a secondary way. Still, the operation of the dramatist's 
mind shows how the use of Business becomes a living prin- 
ciple. Dumas also invented Business for bringing the flip- 
pant characters on at the close. This device is also closely 
allied with the creative power of the Objective. It is 
Objectivity and Business when Prudence gives Camille the 
bank notes in the opening of the Second Act. Whether 
Camille should be standing or sitting when Armand enters 
is perhaps material in that she is not prepared to show her 
emotion or any eagerness to see Armand. When Camille 
says "It has been a beautiful day," Armand's business is to 
look out of the window. It is not absolutely necessary, but 
it indicates the dramatic tendency to connect incidental 
things, visible expression. It is something in addition to 
the thought which is in itself adequate. It is something 
among the many things which the actor may well add. To 
whom hath (the author) shall be given. Again we see the 
tendency to add to and illustrate in every convenient way 
when Varville looks at his watch in saying that he was 
punctual. Camille could have recounted her debts in a way, 
but the tendency to objective illustration involving Busi- 
ness is seen in the use of the account book. Looking at the 
watch is a matter of course and involves no creative Busi- 
ness. The change from a shawl to a wrap was never in the 
world invented merely for Business. Tearing the letter is 
good Business. The natural Business for the talk between 
Camille and her simple friends, Gustave and Nichette, is to 
sit close together. Observe that little or no Business is in- 
dicated in the great scene between Duval and Camille ; 
nearly all is left to the actor; at the last moment he must 
be relied upon to give outward and visible expression to 
the inward and spiritual emotion. Thus the limitations of 
author and actor are clear, their functions delimited, the 
difference between creative and interpretative Business is 
plain. In the Fourth Act, Armand, when he meets Gus- 
tave, takes his hand. The author thought it worth while 



212 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

to make the point. That is something that he did not leave 
to the actor. Again, we have the Objective and Business 
hand in hand, the invention of the author something not 
left to the actor, something creative. In the fifth act, look- 
ing at the clock, placing the pillow, giving the purse, &c, 
are matters of course. There is nothing particularly crea- 
tive except the flowers taken from the casket. Business is 
a good servant, but a poor master. The absurdities, hor- 
rors and dangers of Business for the sake of Business can 
be better explained in some other relation. 

The Business expressly indicated in "Still Waters Run 
Deep" would bear a small proportion to the Business that 
we would see in its actual production. Of course, a good 
part of this additional Business would be implied in the 
lines, but the author has only put down such Business as 
he thought the best expression of the moment. No part 
of the Plot proper in this play is left entirely to Business, is 
it? Some of its Business is famous. It may not have been 
originated by Taylor, but it has come into universal use. 
At one time, Business with a cigar became a positive nuis- 
ance on the stage. Nothing could be more effective, it is 
true, than Mildmay's "seating himself comfortably in an 
easy chair, putting his legs on another chair and lighting 
a cigar." Quite a sedative is a cigar. It belongs to one's 
moments of ease and unconcern. Holding it between the 
fingers and lighting it with a match is surely a test of com- 
posure, when a firm hand shows no tremor. Hawksley 
knew the trick, for it is he who does as is described. "You 
have no objection to smoke?" Mildmay: "None in the 
world." Hawksley : "Now, my dear sir, fire away." Mild- 
may "sits, and then in a very calm voice after watching 
him," begins his statement. We then have the Business of 
Hawksley's "starting," "appearing uneasy," "puffing at his 
cigar with an effort ;" Mildmay's "taking out his cigar case, 
lighting his cigar by Hawksley's." Mildmay has beaten 
Hawksley at his own trick of self-composure and firm 
nerves. Hawksley falls back into his chair after Mildmay 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 213 

announces that Hawksley is a forger, and then with an 
effort denies it. After another speech from Mildmay, 
Hawksley "rises" as he tells Mildmay that he lies. If this 
Business of rising had not been indicated by Taylor, no 
actor would have failed to introduce it, for Hawksley was 
ready to proceed to extremities. Indeed, he aims a "blow 
at Mildmay which he stops and forces Hawksley down into 
an easy chair." Taylor took no chances on the actor not 
rising, for he wanted the Business of Mildmay's forcing 
Hawksley into the chair. He also indicates the Business 
minutely as to Hawksley' s "rising, going around the table, 
and taking notes out of the drawer." Mildmay's position 
being indicated as at the upper end of the table. Mildmay 
counts out notes and gives him the shares. Hawksley 
"takes bundle of letters from drawer, and throws them 
down on table." Taylor considers it important to make 
these points. He considers it worth while indicating that 
Mildmay "counts letters." He was giving the actor oppor- 
tunity after opportunity to show how firm his nerves were. 
Hawksley "puts letters into an envelope and is about to 
light taper." Mildmay observes that Hawksley's hand 
shakes, "takes matches from him and lights taper." Taylor 
permits Hawksley to "seal the packet and hand it to Mild- 
may." Hawksley "examines the bill, then burns it by 
taper, and throws it to the ground stamping on it." Mild- 
may "takes his hat from table." All this is good Business, 
and was so plain to Taylor that he put it down. In fact, 
where Hawksley lifts up his hand as if about to strike him, 
there are no words in the text to indicate that Action, and 
to call forth what Mildmay says, "don't try that on again, I 
may be less patient the second time. I might send you 
into the street without the trouble of going down stairs, 
there's two story's fall, not to speak of area spikes; you 
might hurt yourself." A little later on Hawksley says, 
"do you wish to provoke me to murder you?" Taylor in- 
dicates the Business to accompany this line as "grinding 
his teeth." Perhaps it is not always feasible for every 



214 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

actor playing Hawksley to carry out this stage direction. 
It would be all right to substitute any other convenient 
Business. This scene closes with Business accompanied 
by no text whatever : "Hawksley seems to meditate a rush, 
but checks himself, and stands biting his lips and tremb- 
ling all over." This scene is written largely with reference 
to its Business, and the business is very properly minutely 
indicated. It is such an easy matter for any author to pro- 
vide all the Business that is absolutely essential, and it is 
so incidental and so ready at hand, that it takes care of 
itself. At the same time, if we hold in mind the relative 
positions and emotions of the Characters, we must see to 
it that not only the responsive Business is implied in the 
text, but we must provide a lifelikeness by giving the 
Characters some occupation that is helpful to the illusion. 
For instance, in the opening scene, Mildmay is seated at the 
writing table looking at a book. The whole disposition of 
the Characters as the curtain rises gives opportunities for 
the Business of the Scene. The writer must have a vivid 
enough conception of what will happen on the stage to give 
sufficient form to the picture that he will present to the 
stagemanager who will take the manuscript in hand, and 
thereby guard against misconceptions. The stagemanager 
might change all the Business, but he would at least have 
the advantage of the author's picture and Business. Tay- 
lor's Business is good, but by far the chief merit lies in the 
text and in the management of his spiritual Action. It is 
worth while to note that there is no Business here for the 
mere sake of Business. Taylor did not have Emily "knot 
the handkerchief and bring it down smartly on Mildmay's 
face" merely for the sake of a laugh, which Business is 
very often provocative of. This Business was merely or 
mainly to provide for the Exit of Mildmay. Throughout 
the play we may note that the Exits are often made on 
lines fitting to the Action or Character. Emily was going 
out of the room anyhow, but the words for her exit are 
occasioned by her seeing her husband with his coat off in 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 21 5 

the garden, which causes her to say, "Oh ! what a contrast 
to Hawksley ! Heigh ho \" There is a great deal of Busi- 
ness indicated or implied in the scene between Hawksley 
and Emily. "Taking stage backwards and forwards'' 
and "both going up stage" is very familiar Business. 
The Business of Mildmay's painting the trellis while 
on the ladder was necessarily introduced because he was 
to overhear a conversation by accident. The Business sug- 
gested itself, but it was not for the sake of Business that 
it was introduced. In the scene between Potter and Mild- 
may, when Mildmay tells Potter that he has not the slight- 
est objection to the purchase of fifty more shares of Hawk- 
sley's stock, "he goes up for his hat, &c." This Business 
was in order to permit Mildmay to assume indifference. 
This is a small point, and shows the difference between 
mere incidental Business and Business with a purpose of 
its own. There is Action in this Business, for the audience 
gets a point on Mildmay's state of mind. Taylor indicates 
the Business of Hawksley's "looking at his watch" as he 
says "half-past twelve o'clock." Without this stage direc- 
tion, an actor who would not look at his watch or a clock 
or hear a distant bell, would not understand the first rudi- 
ments of his business. It is peculiarly the actor's part to 
furnish Business. Mrs. Sternhold, in the second act, when 
Mildmay enters, "crosses to R., resumes her seat and 
pours out tea, &c." The actress is always happy at a tea 
table. Taylor has indicated just sufficient Business there 
to determine one or two little points. He could well rely 
upon the actor to furnish plenty of Business "at a tea 
table." The actor-author writing a play with a tea table 
in it usually loses all his bearings, and sacrifices much that 
should be in the text to Business. We need not go into 
every bit of Business indicated in this play. Hawksley's 
"sitting on corner of table" is familiar Business. The Busi- 
ness at the opening of the third act where Mrs. Sternhold, 
Mrs. Mildmay and Potter are occupied in preparing the 
letters putting off the dinner is natural and requires no 



2l6 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

discussion. The play has been popular in its use for the 
last fifty years largely by reason of its Business. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is a great acting 
play, and consequently the opportunities for Business 
must be good. But Massinger did not write for the 
sake of Business. He gives very little Business, but a great 
deal of it, all that an actor can invent, is implied in the 
lines and the situations. A stagemanager could take this 
manuscript and fill it with indicated Business. He could do 
it a great deal better than you could, if you were inex- 
perienced, but you too could do much in that direction. 
The ordinary stagemanager would give the positions of 
the characters on the stage and have them cross and rise 
.•and sit with a greater variety and propriety, technically, 
?<than you could, but you might interpret the lines even 
better than he. "Raising his cudgel/' Wellborn finally 
"beats Tapwell over to L." Between these two points 
there is no Business indicated. They talk at some length 
Wellborn, for the most part, listening. He controls him- 
self. Why? Is it to permit Massinger to get certain facts 
before the audience? It could appear so if it were not for 
the Business to be supplied by the actor. There is no di- 
rect explanation given in the text. Wellborn is filled with 
amotions of various kinds. They must be expressed in 
some way, facially, by posture, &c. He is amazed, for one 
thing, at the impudence and ingratitude of Tapwell. He 
wants to see how far he will go. He is not hesitating 
whether he shall beat him or not. Perhaps he did not hesi- 
tate a moment when Tapwell spoke of the bailiff. "Why 
should not Wellborn remind him of what he had done for 
him before he laid the "rough stick on him?" When the 
tapster recited the history of Old Sir John, why should not 
Wellborn sink into meditation for a moment? Tapwell has 
never spoken in this way and with such command of words 
before. Why is Wellborn not puzzled a little by the cir- 
cumstance? "Some curate hath penned this invective, and 
you have studied it." "Offers him money." The Business 



G 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 217 

is essential. It is inevitable, a matter of course in acting, 
and a very different thing from the mere gestures of elocu- 
tion. "In a line across." See the authority of Order at 
once. "Crosses to Furnace and shakes hands." Massinger 
probably did not put that in the manuscript. A stagemana- 
ger would have done so, for he writes primarily from the 
point of view of Business. Note the stagemanager's direc- 
tions for the reception of Allworth by the servants : "All- 
worth crosses to Furnace; Allworth crosses to Order; 
crosses to Amble; crosses R. ; Order retires up R." All 
this in six sentences or speeches. When Sir Giles enters, 
with others, "Marrall goes behind to R." It disperses the 
Overreach group, makes them stand out singly when re- 
quired in the changing picture, and permits Sir Giles and 
Marrall to "confer apart" while Greedy has his talk about 
the food. Sir Giles "crosses, followed by Marrall" when 
Sir Giles denounces Wellborn. "Marrall eyeing Wellborn 
contemptuously, — who takes a chair and sits, C." This 
may not be Massinger. But good points are made in this 
stage-direction. Now, the Business for Greedy, implied 
only and not expressed, is as good as that expressed for 
Marrall. How would he say that he would grant the war- 
rant? with perfect indifference, not with a withering look 
at Wellborn, for he is thinking of his eating, and at once 
turns as he makes his exit, all grace and full of hope for 
culinary favors, to the cook: "Think of pye-corner, Fur- 
nace !" Rely on the actor who plays Greedy to supply plen- 
ty of good Business. How much better Wellborn can utter 
"This is rare," if he is sitting. Imagine him stretching out 
his legs, relaxed, the tattered gentleman feeling a bit like 
himself. He "starts up" only when Amble threatens to 
use bodily force. Remember that he is sitting center. He 
remains a picture. It would be bad Business indeed if he 
were moving about. The Business is so good that Mas- 
singer must have so conceived the happenings. After a 
Business he sees everything as it happens. Then he neces- 
dramatist has the mechanism of his play and reaches the 



2l8 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

sarily thinks in Business, but not merely for the sake of 
Business. If he is borrowing something from some other 
play, or, as an actor-author, from some reminiscence, he 
thinks Business for its own sake primarily. Let us refer to 
the original. I find that the Business is not there. Proba- 
bly Kean put it in. Kean was an actor of genius. This 
play has been greatly bettered in the acting edition. It 
would seem to appear, when we make a comparison of the 
acting version with the original, that the actor of the period 
of the play, in his art, like the author, relied much upon the 
words. The proof is clear here that not so much import- 
ance was attached to Business at that time as now. But, 
even if we assume that Massinger conceived different Busi- 
ness, we may rest easy that it was effective. The offering 
of the pocketbook is implied as explained in similar condi- 
tions. The original or one of the early editions has the 
Business, "Whispers to her," just before she says, "Noth- 
ing else?" This is omitted in the present version. It is a 
proper stage direction when "Lady Allworth signs to the 
servants, who retire to the top of the stage." This is im- 
plied, but one must read between the lines. "Placing hand 
on Marrall's shoulder" is a small point, but fitting. Other 
Business in this act is a matter of course. "Speaking off 
as he enters" is still a much used Business in our day and 
always will be. Sir Giles "walks around Margaret, and re- 
mains on her L." He is inspecting her in "these orient 
pearls and diamonds well placed, too." He would prefer 
her in another gown which he describes. It is a modern 
interpolation that "Greedy enters, R., with a napkin around 
his neck, and a dumpling in his hand," and later with a 
towel and then with "a napkin under his chin." Greedy 
starts to the dinner table; Marrall stops him. Sir Giles 
"leans on back of the chair" as he pictures to Lord Lovell 
the advantages offered by the match with Margaret. The 
Business is not absolutely essential, but it is good, proba- 
bly Kean's. The last act necessarily involves and implies 
much Business, for it is a great acting opportunity, particu- 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT MERE BUSINESS 2ICJ 

larly for Sir Giles. Massinger may have conceived it all 
differently, and it is obvious or demonstrable that, in cer- 
tain passages, he did not have the same Business in mind 
at all. But the opportunity for it was afforded by the dra- 
matist. 



CHAPTER XIX. 



ACTION (DRAMA) IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER 
OF WORDS. 

Assuming that the author of "Ingomar" (as did the 
author of each of the other plays in the list) made his 
division into acts and scenes, then framed his scenario, be- 
fore beginning the actual composition or wording of his play, 
it must be evident to you that Words are a secondary con- 
sideration. By referring to the definition of a Drama in 
"The Technique" you will see that Words are but one of 
the means of expression. What has been said about Busi- 
ness applies largely to Words. There are millions of words 
and combinations of words, but the combination of emo- 
tions and happenings in a play are infinitely more limited. 
A play is written by means, primarily of the emotions, of 
the relationship of the characters and of those happenings 
that find play in the structure and which cause and require 
structure and delimitation into scenes. The words used in 
mapping out your Play, for example, are merely descrip- 
tive; and words become of importance only when, your play 
being to all intents and purposes already practically com- 
pleted, you must give speech to your characters. This 
is the important one point to be learned in this division of 
our study. Things are important in the drama as you reach 
them. Never begin writing a play by means of Words. Re- 
member that the drama is full of economies ; the stage set- 
ting, the business, the dress, what has happened before the 
Action — and hundreds of things that obviate the use of 
words or the necessity of them. They are to be used only 
when necessary. That the play is largely written by means 
of the emotions and technically by means of scenes, as we 
shall see, may be illustrated by the anecdote told of a cer- 
tain British Lord who, in commenting on a celebrated scene 
in blank verse in a popular play of the day, contended that 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 221 

the words were fustian, and wagered that he could supply 
the scene, as to its long speech, with words meaning abso- 
lutely nothing, and that the actress, in delivering them, 
with the same passion, would at least get equal applause. 
It was tried and the applause was even greater, the actress 
having entered into the spirit of the wager. The situation 
and the emotion were the real, definite and effective ele- 
ments. Take any one of the plays in the list and cut out 
as many words and lines as you think you safely can do 
without destroying the Action, and you will see the force 
of the statement that words alone do not make a play. 
Learn to abhor words as words. The value of words we 
shall appreciate in their proper use, when we reach Dia- 
logue. 

That words are, in a measure, elements in a drama is 
apparent from the very definition of a drama, but we have 
seen that a play is constructed before there is any occasion 
for Words. The limitation of this element will be fully 
discussed later on. In analyzing plays see wherein Words 
are used falsely, taking the place of proper construction and 
the thing itself. There is no illustration of their misuse in 
"The Lady of Lyons" except by way of superfluity and 
bombast. If Bulwer had been relying upon Words, he 
would have had Beauseant, in his talk with Glavis, 
say that he knew a means of revenge, that he knew 
a gardener's son, Melnotte, that he was called Prince 
by the peasantry, &c. He would have destroyed the 
dramatic qualities of the Action in every direction. On the 
contrary, he lets the facts take the place of Words. Surely, 
Words are abundant in Melnotte's description of his pal- 
ace, but they are merely incidental to a definite purpose. 
It is the scene and the idea that do the business 
and not the words as words. Words are means of expres- 
sion only, subordinate always. To avoid Words Business 
is often used, as where Melnotte throws away his brush 
at the easel. They are connected with Facts and thus 
have a concreteness. He had sent the rarest flowers to 



222 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Pauline, as we know. He had sent verses signed by his 
own name and expects the return of his messenger. If 
Words had an unlimited value, he could give an indefinite 
number of reasons why he thought Pauline would receive 
his suit with favor. The fact that Melnotte has succeeded 
in gaining the favor of Pauline and her mother is told in 
words at the beginning of the second act, but it is a logical 
statement of a fact that we accept, and is accompanied by 
concrete things. It does not take the place of what should 
have been shown. Words appear in a badly written play 
in the form of talk without Action, examples of which 
must be found elsewhere. Macready, with his great stage- 
craft, revised this play, and little has been left to cut. He 
no doubt did a great deal of cutting out of the surplusage 
from the original manuscript. 

Dumas has himself said that a difficulty in playwriting 
is, not what to say, so much as what not to say. It is not 
likely, then, that we would find unnecessary words in his 
play. Here and there we might cut without destroying the 
Action, but we would reduce it. Words become the me- 
dium of the Action after the other mediums have been 
established. It is by means of the construction that Dumas 
avoided the use of Words as Words and finally reached 
them with an almost independent, primary purpose and 
function. Had he not introduced Nichette by means of a 
scene, the scene accomplishing something else besides in- 
troducing her, he would have been compelled to resort to 
Words to describe her and her relations to Camille and 
Gustave. He would have had Words taking the place 
of Action and Objectivity, and we would have missed that 
Indirectness which conveys the fact of the friendship be- 
tween Camille and Nichette and why they were friends. 
They formerly worked together, and here is the working 
girl coming after work left for her. It is not impossible that 
these facts could have been conveyed by words in some 
other connection, but if left entirely or mainly to Words 
the effect would be diminished in proportion to the lack 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 223 

of the other qualities pointed out in the scenes. Suppose 
Nanine had thought that she heard the bell ring and re- 
marked that it might be Nichette, but was mistaken, the 
bell not having been rung; Varville could have asked who 
Nichette was, and the Dialogue might have proceeded as 
now; but it would be a feeble impression even if the audi- 
ence caught every word. Dumas had to rely on words in 
giving the history of Camille as a part of the Conditions 
Precedent, which could not by any possibility be acted. 
But those Words live in their effect upon Varville and in 
defining the Action in the mind of the audience with refer- 
ence to Varville. If the conversation had continued so as 
to include a description of the various friends of Camille, 
it would have been mere talk and words. With an in- 
experienced writer what would there be to prevent him 
from having Camille and Varville enter into an extended 
conversation when Camille comes on? What saves the 
scene from Words? The prearranged mechanism of the 
play. The conversation takes the only turn it can and is 
kept within the limitations of the object of the scene. Every 
syllable beyond the accomplishment of the object of a scene 
is mere talk, so many words. A wrong arrangement in the 
scene or in the Dialogue itself will convert everything into 
Mere Words. If Words are made the first thing in the 
process of writing a play it will inevitably fall into Words. 
While Construction prevents the process of mere Words, 
which is the instinct of the mind not trained to the dra- 
matic, the proper Sequence of ideas promotes the economy 
of the moment. These ideas are distributed so as to appear 
at the right time and with the greatest effect. Prudence 
calls from her window that "a young man whom I have 
not seen for a long time has just stepped in to see me, and 
I cannot leave him alone." "Then bring him along," says 
Camille. Could not Prudence have given his name and told 
all about him? As it is, Camille's indifference is shown, 
and we get a new turn in connection with the actual pres- 
ence of Armand when he enters. Something has been saved 



224 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

for the following scenes. The situation did not demand 
that Prudence should say more. The audience knows 
nothing of Armand, and does not see what else she could 
say or why she should say it. If they did there would 
be a sense of something lacking. The fact that Prudence 
was to bring a young man was enough. Then comes his 
name, then that he is "the man of all Paris who loves you 
most," then who his father is, then as to his sister. If all 
these facts had been jumbled together in one speech by 
Prudence either before she came on or after she entered 
they would have been Words; the audience would not 
have remembered them, for the points would not have 
been made. There would have been a blur instead of a 
distinct impression with reference to each fact. These are 
living facts in their use in the immediate Action. A long 
history is told in the third scene in order to bring out Con- 
ditions Precedent but they effect one thing; these facts 
effect constant change before the eye. We have already 
seen why the talk at the supper table is not Mere Words. 
Every Word in these scenes counts at the present moment. 
In the Fourth Act, if Prudence had gossiped about Ca- 
mille's extravagance and recklessness in her mode of liv- 
ing, "scarcely an hour at home — operas, balls, suppers — 
and as for sleep, that scarcely visits her any more," with 
any character other than Armand, the effect would be lack- 
ing, and it would fall into Words. If it were not for the 
Preparation in the one scene in the first act, and a few 
bits of Preparation in the course of the Action, many 
Words of explanation would be required for the scene 
between Camille, Nichette and Gustave. In point of fact, 
no use of mere words would have made the scene more 
effective. This play is so compact, its construction is so 
inevitable, and its Action so fitting, that it is difficult to 
frame examples by way of changing anything. It is re- 
markable in its economy of Words. The fact that Arm- 
and's father is a judge saves all description of Character, 
and Gaston's remark that he was a gruff, crusty old 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 225 

gentleman added the touch needed. We know his social 
position, we know of his daughter. We learn that she is 
engaged when the father urges the fact as a reason why 
Camille should give up Armand. To have introduced this 
and the objection of the girl's parents to the marriage 
earlier would have been waste of Words. We have the 
Unexpected by reason of this forbearance. The Action at 
all points is Self-Explanatory, in itself a great saving of 
Words. The Compulsion that determines in the great 
scene with the father depends largely upon what we have 
already seen and know. All the words that are used apply 
to the present moment of the Action. The Indirection used 
also obviates the use of Words. The character of Olimpe 
is particularly notable for the absolute economy of Words. 
It is not what is said about her, but what she does and in- 
cidentally says. The play was plainly worked out in all 
its parts before the Dialogue was written. It is true that 
Dumas dramatized it from his novel, but he wrote with 
reference to Drama and recast the material when he put 
it into dramatic form. Economy of Words by means of 
Business is to be noted particularly in the last act. 

An inordinate use of Words usually comes from defec- 
tive structure. The play having been built and being com- 
plete in its outlines, the scenes which we are to clothe with 
Words having been provided, we come to a distinct danger. 
The inexperienced writer who may have acquired his art 
up to the point of Dialogue, if not fully acquainted 
with the principles governing Words, would then upset 
all the good work he had done before. It is in the Dialogue 
which is carried out by Words that his judgment and tech- 
nique must again control him. We shall give parts of the 
Dialogue of the first scene in "Still Waters Run Deep" in 
a way that the amateur might give it, indicating by brack- 
ets the superfluous words that he might use. 

Mildmay. 

[It is a very tedious evening, I have tried to introduce 
15 



226 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

several topics of conversation, but all of you seem to be 
grumpy. They say music has charms to soothe the savage 
breast, and I do not see why the piano should stand idle. 
I have heard it said that wherever you find a piano you 
find a happy home.] Suppose, Emily, you give us a little 
music? 

Mrs. Sternhold. 

[And it is a very good piano indeed, but no thanks to 
you, I selected it myself and gave a hundred pounds for it. 
What care you for music? Asking Emily to give us a little 
music !] Nonsense ! that you may have an opportunity of 
snoring without detection, Mr. Mildmay. 

Mildmay. 

(Deprecatingly) [I do not think I snore in the way to 
disturb people, but we shall let that pass]. I think perhaps 
Emily [who is so fond of playing the piano] might indulge 
me with Auld Robin Gray. 

Mrs. Mildmay. 

[Listen to the man talking!] Auld Robin Gray! Now, 
Aunt, only conceive of his asking for a stupid old melody 
like that [a simple little thing that any schoolgirl who 
hardly knows her scales could play.] 

Mildmay. 

[I remember the time, and you were quite a skillful mu- 
sician even then, when you played it.] You used to like 
playing it to me before we were married. 
Mrs. Mildmay. 

Before we were married ! when you know I adore Beeth- 
oven, [the divine master of music. To play his pieces re- 
quires more skill than I had in those days. I can assure 
you I have not had much to amuse myself during my mar- 
ried life except to play, and my skill is very much admired 
I shall let you know] 

Mrs. Sternhold. 

To appreciate Beethoven, Emily, requires a soul for mu- 
sic : Mr. Mildmay has no soul for music. [I don't believe 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 227 

he can tell one note from another ; knowing that you prefer 
the higher music he certainly should have taken some 
means to cultivate himself; no, he has no soul for music] 

Potter. 

No, no, John, you know you haven't. [I heard you try- 
ing to whistle a popular melody the other day and it made 
my teeth stand on edge.] 

Mildmay. 

[Your teeth!] 

Potter. 

[Bah!] You have no soul for anything. 
Mildmay. 

Very well, [have it your own way.] By the by, Emily, 
what do you say to a quiet little dinner at Richmond to- 
morrow ? 

Mrs. Sternhold. 

It's quite out of the question, Mr. Mildmay. [You are al- 
ways making some absurd suggestion, and trying to dis- 
turb the family arrangements.] I can't allow Emily to go, 
[and for a very good reason] I have issued invitations for 
a dinner here. 

Mildmay. 

[I must say that you are always doing something to up- 
set my calculations, but let it go.] I thought as it was the 
anniversary of our wedding day, Emily, you would like a 
tete-a-tete with me at the Star and Garter, [which you 
know is celebrated for some of its dishes.] 
Mrs. Mildmay. 

[I know Mr. Mildmay, that you have an inordinate appe- 
tite for good eating, and I have no doubt that you are cor- 
rectly informed about the excellence of the food prepared 
at the Star and Garter. I am not inclined to be propitiated 
by any such means. If you cannot make yourself agreeable 
at home, I am sure that you cannot away from home in 
what you call a tete-a-tete.] But you hear that it is quite 
impossible, and that my aunt has made a party at home. 



228 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

If a play were thus Dialogued, correct in every way ex- 
cept that the blue pencil would have to be drawn through 
the sentences in the brackets, you may be sure that the 
expert to whom it might be submitted would unerringly 
mark out the sentences indicated by the brackets. A num- 
ber of these sentences are simply superfluous in the matter 
of Words. Others are mere Words, because divergent from 
the immediate purpose of the Dialogue or scene. What 
we have given as the unnecessary use of words could also 
be applied to Mere Life. It would be an easy and most 
valuable exercise for the student to elaborate scenes from 
plays, add superfluous words and sentences, and then rea- 
son it out why they are not essential and may be harmful 
although in perfect keeping with the Characters and the 
circumstances. So far as mere talk is concerned, the stu- 
dent will thereby acquire a mortal hatred of mere talk and 
mere words. He will learn the exacting nature of the re- 
quirement of economy in this respect in a play. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" belongs to the 
highest form of the literary acting drama, and is conse- 
quently much concerned with Words as a form of expres- 
sion, as a decidedly technical element in the work. In no 
drama are Words to be disregarded, but are to be used with 
reference to their effect and importance in the scheme, and 
are to be considered seriously at the time they become im- 
portant in the dialogue. In the literary drama the drama- 
tist begins to consider the form of expression somewhat 
earlier than he does in the prose forms. Many of the pas- 
sages and phrases employed by Massinger came to him in 
his notes. Detached expressions may occur to you in 
your material and be set down. Structural form of 
course comes first. From papers left by Schiller we know 
that his method was to get his structure first, to make out 
his scenario and then to translate into verse, stopping at 
times to work out complete passages in verse. We recog- 
nize the power of the element of words in this play, but 
as powerful as it is, Massinger could no more have relied 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 229 

upon it than the veriest amateur who attempts everything 
by means of Words. Note how fully the character of Sir 
Giles is built up by means of Words even before we have 
seen him, but these descriptive Words belong to the Action 
of the moment and advance the Action of the play. Tap- 
well reminds Wellborn and tells us of the time when Sir 
Giles, resolving not to lose his opportunity, "on statutes, 
mortgages and bidding bonds, awhile supplied his folly, 
and, having got his land, then left him." When Wellborn 
and Tom Allworth talk, we are told of the "cormorant," 
Overreach, who had ruined both Wellborn and Allworth. 
We learn of his vast ambition for his daughter Margaret. 
The same facts could have been conveyed by Wellborn in 
the opening of the play by means of a soliloquy, and there 
would have been some Action in them, but not as now, 
where they are raised to the Nth power; not as now when 
they are in combination with happenings and have a pro- 
pulsive force, and gather force always from their signifi- 
cance as to the past, the present and the future. In the 
opening scene of the Second Act, the multiplicity of Words 
used by Sir Giles and Marrall is saved from being Words, 
mainly or merely, by reason of the Action. Massinger does 
not put Words above Action, or try to accomplish by means 
of them what should be accomplished by Action itself. 
Wellborn is not mentioned by name until the latter part 
of the Scene, but the object of the scene is to have all that 
is said bear on Wellborn, directly or indirectly. If noth- 
ing had been said about Sir Giles before the opening of the 
scene the Action would not begin until Wellborn is men- 
tioned, and all preceding that point would be Words. It is 
the connection of the ideas that gives force to the Words 
spoken of Farmer Frugal, whom we never see, and of Jus- 
tice Greedy, of whom we now hear for the first time, and 
not by name until the talk has advanced. If Wellborn or 
Allworth had described in any way the insolence of the 
pampered servants at Lady Allworth's (and Massinger's 
description would have been choice), what is now 



230 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Action would have declined into Words, for they 
would not have been to the immediate purpose. This 
insolence was something that had to be shown and 
could not be left to Words. If the substance of what 
is said between Sir Giles and Marrall had been 
given to us in the talk between Tapwell and Wellborn, it 
might have served to give us a definite idea of Overreach's 
methods and his tools, but it would have been out of place, 
in wrong Sequence, and in that way have been Words. 
There would have been too much of it, and therefore 
Words. The object of the first scene of the play refers 
less to the Uncle than to the Nephew. After we learn the 
circumstance and realize the heartless ingratitude of Tap- 
well, we are impatient to see Wellborn administer merited 
blows, and talk about Sir Giles would be mere Words. They 
would leave little or no impression or an impression at 
the wrong time. We have no more Words than are necessary 
to the Action of the scene. It is just as possible to use too 
few Words as it is to use too many. Without the details con- 
veyed in the quarrel in the first scene, we would not un- 
derstand the circumstances; we could not appreciate Well- 
born's wrath. Every word concerns the present in a vital 
way, although they are talking largely of the past, and it 
is preparation of an admirable kind for the future. Words 
are saved by getting the structure first, and confining the 
Words to the object of the scene. Massinger, in this way, 
did not write by means of Words. Facts, feeling and 
character are conveyed all the time and in their proper 
place and with the proper effect. The characters do not 
talk to hear themselves talk, and Massinger did not write 
for the mere sake of writing. The worst fault of any writer 
in any form of literature is self-consciousness, just as the 
damnable sin of any actor is self-consciousness, and Mas- 
singer has not a bit of it. All his gifts were at the service 
of the drama; all subdued to that in which he worked. 
Drama abhors an abstraction no less severely than nature 
abhors a vacuum. Lady Allworth's description of the 



ACTION IS NOT PRIMARILY A MATTER OF WORDS 23 1 

qualities of a soldier is so general in its application that it 
could be used as widely as a universal truth and stand by 
itself; but it is in its connection absolutely concrete, a part 
of the wonderfully substantial structure. Note its many 
bearings. She begins her talk with her step-son, Tom All- 
worth, with an inquiry about his "noble master," and then 
turns to the giving of good advice. They are the words 
of his own father that she repeats to him about the true 
soldier, and, "to conclude," as she says, she bids him beware 
of evil company. It all leads up directly to warning him 
against companionship with Wellborn. It is concrete and 
practical. It has also a subtle bearing on her admiration 
for Allworth's "noble master." It is a bit of Preparation 
for her union with him. It is not meant to be obvious at 
the moment, but when the time arrives we are prepared 
to see those two lofty souls come together. Lord Lovell 
is the soldier whom she describes in repeating the words 
of Allworth's father. Lady Allworth says, for "often men 
are like those with whom they do converse." This is a pro- 
verb which Massinger puts in his own way. But see how 
concrete she makes it in her application by immediately 
adding "and, from one man I warn you, and that's Well- 
born." There is much in this play that is of universal ap- 
plication, but its immediate use is always to the point. The 
play, indeed, is remarkable in seeming to verify objectively 
everything that is said. The words at the time of utterance 
have a concrete use and later on they are demonstrated 
Objectively. In the first scene of the Second Act, for ex- 
ample, Sir Giles declares that he will not have a chamber- 
maid who ties Margaret's shoes or does any meaner office, 
but such whose fathers were worshipful. We see this veri- 
fied when Margaret appears accompanied by Lady Down- 
fallen. 



CHAPTER XX. 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD, THE 
OPPOSITE OF STORY TELLING. 

Indirectness is that essential and distinctive quality in 
the Drama whereby all that is said and done by the charac- 
ters is said and done through the necessities of the moment 
and because the Action calls for it; so that everything indi- 
rectly reaches the audience through the Action, nothing be- 
ing addressed to it. 

By learning how to do a thing your mind acquires the 
habit of doing it in the right way, and if by chance or in- 
advertance you do it the wrong way, that moment you feel 
it. Until one understands the principles of the drama and 
the art of playwriting, his entire method, absolutely natural 
to him, is the wrong method. He naturally expresses him- 
self in the method most habitual to him. We commonly 
impart our experiences by narrative and description, and 
in beginning to write drama the novice uses words, and 
words only, the medium to which he is accustomed. How- 
ever animated his account of a happening, it remains a 
description, whereas, so far as the Action of a play is con- 
cerned, description is an utter impossibility. The drama- 
tist removes himself from any Direct communication with 
the Action and sees to it, further, that there is no Direct 
communication from the characters to the audience. What- 
ever the characters say is for themselves and without refer- 
ence to us. It is the part of the author to put them in 
relations and positions where they have to say the desired 
things necessary for the understanding of the audience and 
the progress of the Action. So far away is the drama from 
the need of telling things that its first care is to provide 
against words in every possible way, by means of scenery, 
tke costumes, the make-up, the mechanism of the play and 
the Action generally. Every detail of information that is 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 233 

imparted to us is revealed as if we did not exist. Surely 
there can be no Direct communication with anything 
that does not exist. The slightest variation from what 
is implied in this law of Indirection is undramatic 
and weakens the Action. We see that Parthenia 
is humble from the house of her parents out 
of which her mother comes. The mother tells of Parthe- 
nia's character; but how? By way of remonstrance with 
her, not for the sake of the audience. That Parthenia is in 
love with no one is brought out in the same Indirect way. 
The smallest details are thus introduced Indirectly, that 
Parthenia's father is a poor armorer, that the family is in 
needy circumstances, that the girl has reached a marriage- 
able age, that she is no longer free to dream and that she 
must consider a certain marriage. It is a great part of the 
art to introduce desired facts in the right way and at the 
right time. Here it is that Sequence comes into play. It is 
all Indirect. Do we not see, in the first scene between Par- 
thenia and her mother that her character is the exact oppo- 
site to what the mother says? She is a loving and dutiful 
daughter. The amateur's tendency to Directness is destruc- 
tive of the Detail, color, emotion and everything that gives 
the drama its charm. The more you let an audience see for 
itself the better pleased it will be. It resents as an im- 
pertinence anything Direct from author or character; and 
in as much as an author must misuse his character to make 
him speak Directly, there is a double iniquity about Direct- 
ness that an audience feels, if it does not recognize the 
cause of its discomfort. 

All the principles are connected each with the other. In 
"The Lady of Lyons" the amateur's way would have been 
to have Pauline's pride told of in words before she ap- 
peared, but that pride is conveyed in an indirect way by 
showing her at her toilet and by the actual state of mind 
of the two women. The appearance of wealth in the cir- 
cumstances and the incident of the ordering of the carriage' 
tell of that wealth indirectlv. We are informed that the 



234 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

family is in trade by Indirection when Beauseant makes 
his aside remark. This Indirection consists in that nothing 
whatever is told to the audience, but is understood by the 
audience from the circumstances. The vanity of the moth- 
er all comes out without a comment. Nobody tells us that 
Damas is a blunt and democratic old soldier. It comes out 
in his rebuke of the women. It is by Indirection that we 
learn that they are looking for a prince. The Landlord's 
account of Melnotte, that he is well to do and accompished 
is Indirection because it is not addressed to the audience or, 
in the slightest degree, given with reference to anything 
but the information of the questioners. The opening scene 
of act second is good Indirection. When Melnotte asks 
who planned the gardens, it Indirectly shows that he is 
playing a part. What need was there for him to say in an 
aside to the audience that he must pretend ignorance? That 
would have been a clumsy and superfluous device of Di- 
rectness. Damas' suspicion is sufficiently indicated and In- 
directly by his saying that he had heard the porter say 
Melnotte was "much like his highness." A clumsier writer 
would have had him express his suspicion definitely and 
Directly. Note the Indirectness by which Pauline discov- 
ers that the widow is Melnotte's mother. The amateur 
would go straight at it and lose all his points. We know 
that Beauseant is lying when he sends the widow off for 
Melnotte by the Indirection. When Damas says : "There 
is something fine in the rascal, after all," it is the Indirect 
way of saying "I am for him." In the opening of the last 
act the amateur would have Damas, in a monologue, tell 
about Morier and what had happened in the meanwhile. 
Bulwer creates characters in order to have it Indirect. 

"Camille" is of Indirection all compact. Inasmuch 
as everything in a play must be indirectly conveyed, it is 
not necessary to call attention to every example in every 
line in "Camille." What reaches an audience must come 
through the medium of the Characters and not be directly 
imparted. If a character should step to the front of the stage, 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 235 

like Bottom the Weaver, and explain matters to the audi- 
ence, it would be direct. This may seem to be an extreme 
case, but all monologue and all dialogue not justified by the 
necessity of the characters for themselves is exactly the 
same thing. The characters are unconscious of the audi- 
ence, and by no possibility can they convey anything di- 
rectly to it. It may be said that scenery and costume are 
direct, but their relations to the Action of the play depend 
upon Indirection. It may seem at first that Nanine's ac- 
count of Camille is direct, but it is not, for she is under the 
necessity of explaining to Varville, and that necessity 
would exist even if the audience did not hear it. If she 
had given the Story in a monologue at the opening of the 
play without any apparent necessity, it would have been 
in the nature of the direct. It is very difficult in writing a 
play to escape the exercise of any and all of the principles, 
and this false monologue which we indicate might be pre- 
pared with a certain measure of Indirectness ; but every- 
thing should be done in a play in the proper way. The 
drama is not satisfied with half measures and apologetic 
art, or mere artifice. The tendency is toward perfect art, 
and no dramatist should be satisfied with that which is de- 
fective. That Nichette is a working girl is Indirectly 
shown by her calling for the bundle. Her affection for 
Camille is indirectly led up to by her taking the bundle 
instead of having it sent to her, for, as she says, "nothing 
is a trouble that I do for Camille." The fact that Camille 
is fond of her is Indirectly brought out by Varville's com- 
ment on the name and Nanine's reply that it was a pet 
name and that they are very fond of each other. It imme- 
diately follows by Indirection that they used to be com- 
panions, worked together in the same room, and that 
Camille was an embroideress. All this could have been 
Indirectly told by Nanine in a Monologue, or less directly 
in a talk with Varville. But the slight indirection would not 
have been sufficient after the dramatic method. The work- 
man must never quarrel with his tools. In the case of this 



236 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

principle, he must seek the Indirect without compromise. 
It is brought out Indirectly that Nichette is wise, in the 
French meaning of the word, and that she is to be married 
to Gaston, who is waiting below. Do you not see the 
value of this Indirection in the manner of furnishing ani- 
mated Dialogue? Story is commonly long winded, de- 
scriptive and without that vibration between the speakers 
which should exist. Everything in these three first scenes 
up to the Entrance of Camille is brought out Indirectly, 
and yet it would be possible to make it all direct, in the 
manner indicated. That Camille is not pleased to see Var- 
ville is brought out by Indirection in the speeches which 
pass between them. By means of this Indirection we get 
Detail. Camille's life of luxury and her feverish love of 
pleasure are indirectly conveyed by the facts that she has 
just returned from the opera, has about her her rich 
cloak and is expecting friends to supper with whom she is 
to continue her occupation of amusement. These ideas 
are conveyed to the audience in addition to the things 
actually seen. To call the Objectivity of these things direct 
would not be wholly true, and the observation and thought 
of the audience goes beyond, for example, the mere splen- 
dor of the cloak and gown. That Camille is ill may be said 
to be conveyed by her cough, but it is to be observed that 
the purpose of the author is in the nature of Indirection, 
because no emphasis is laid upon the incident. The par- 
ticular thing at this moment is to repel Varville's solicitude 
and have her say "I will be better when you are gone." To 
be fully dramatic, the essential tendency of the dramatic 
is to be followed even in details. Thus it would be Direct 
if she should say at once, "She is my next door neighbor; 
I shall see." But the Indirect way is the best. Do you not 
see the fine distinction in the method? She goes to the 
window and calls; the audience sees that Prudence is Ca- 
mille's neighbor, and Olimpe learns that she is her neigh- 
bor for the first time. Camille could have directly de- 
scribed Prudence, a milliner, "a good soul, with a heart as 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 237 

light as her purse," but with one customer, herself, all in a 
single speech. But Indirection is secured by having Gaston 
not know Prudence and ask who she is, by Olimpe saying 
that she has but one customer. Indirection of this sort 
is not a mere arbitrary rule, and, in this case, it is saved 
from artificiality by the circumstances and the naturalness 
of the dialogue. The Indirection makes the Dialogue crisp 
and responsive, full of ideas and facts and relations. All 
the facts about the family of Armand are brought out In- 
directly. Prudence could have imparted the information, 
but that would have been too direct and would not have 
involved the other characters. Dumas had all the facts in 
his material and notes, those and other facts he had to in- 
troduce Indirectly, and his art being a living one within 
him, he contrived a scene by means of which he could util- 
ize the facts. This indirectness has also the value of af- 
fording lightness of touch. Imagine, for example, Armand's 
reference to his sister being withheld until the interview 
between the two. It would be sudden and direct, without 
light and shade. It is obvious that more points are made 
by this method, and every point that is made in a play is 
that much money. How horribly sordid that sounds, but 
Art nods her head in approval. The use of the Indirect is 
an exercise of the living art. The supper scene is not an 
accident in the composition of the play. Dumas had in his 
notes substantially all that appears in the Dialogue of the 
scene. He had to introduce all this Indirectly. It is all 
purely incidental. It is not important enough to be used 
in the structure. It could by no possibility be utilized in 
any other way. Imagine Camille's describing Prudence as 
a greedy creature. Of course, Sequence has everything to 
do with the withholding of this trait in Prudence. It is a 
good bit of Indirectness when Varville says to Camille that 
she will be cold with a a light shawl and she replies, "Cold ! 
I am on fire !" also "Camille : Give me my mantle, Nanine, 
I must go." Nanine: "You have it, mademoiselle." Pru- 
dence advises Camille not to see Armand, with whom Pru- 



238 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

dence has just been talking. Camille (weeping) "That is 
your advice ?" Prudence: "It is." Camille.: "What else 
did he say?" The Action itself is Indirect, by means of 
which Armand, at the close of the second act, has Camille 
renounce Varville. The letter from Varville arrives, Arm- 
and makes it the "touchstone of her worth." If her renun- 
ciation and choice had been the Direct result of his talk 
with her the method would have been more Direct, but 
the end is obtained better by this form of Indirectness. The 
gayety of Nichette and Gaston is arrived at Indirectly ; they 
talk of his first case and laugh over his losing it, &c. To 
have talked about their happiness merely would have been 
a repetition and would have been very tiresome. Duval's 
entrance is accomplished in an Indirect way. The result 
of the interview between Duval and Camille is reached by 
many paths of Indirection. "You must tell him that you do 
not love him." "He will not believe me." "You must 
leave Paris." "He will follow me." "What will you do?" 

"I must teach him to despise me." Prudence's account of 
Camille's return to her luxurious life, her debts paid, and 
under the protection of Varville is Indirect, for she tells 
it all with another purpose than the talk effects. In the last 
act there are many examples of the Indirect. The Direct 
method used by the inexpert would have announced at the 
beginning of the act, in so many words, that Camille 
has been deserted by most of her friends. 

In "Still Waters Run Deep" let us first consider the oper- 
ation of the dramatist's mind which causes him to select 
those things which he wants to bring in Indirectly. Many 
small or even important points may have occurred to him 
as he was writing the dialogue, but, in the main, they were 
ascertained and carefully assigned in his notes, mental or 
written, to the particular scene. He constantly refers back 
to the Material and the Conditions Precedent. The thought 
has occurred that the Mildmays have been married a year. 
Emily is young and, disappointed, in away, in her marriage, 
and not yet beyond the period of girlish romance. It is a 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 239 

little touch, worth the while to consider, and is put down in 
the notes. Nothing structural depends upon the date of the 
marriage. The Plot is not concerned with it. It is an in- 
cidental idea to be introduced incidentally; and if inciden- 
tally, Indirectly. Trifles can be thus introduced, and being 
subordinate ideas, their proportions are preserved. The ob- 
ject of the first scene in the play is to show the Conditions, 
but in an active way. To show that Mildmay is not consid- 
ered in his own household we must also show why, and 
the incidents must turn on facts ; in other words, the Action 
must be about something. Where does the author find the 
somethings about which it all is? Naturally, in his mate- 
rial. It could be about things off stage and not of the real 
Action, and the effect desired for the first scene could be 
produced, but the scene would lack compactness. As it is, 
everything has a direct bearing though introduced Indi- 
rectly. Mildmay is a home loving man and admires his 
wife's accomplishments. "Suppose, Emily, you give us a 
little music/' Her reply shows at once that she does not 
appreciate his admiration. The fact that they are married 
comes out very simply, but with beautiful Indirectness. 
"You used to like playing it to me before we were married," 
says Mildmay. Indirectly we see the change in her. Forth- 
with by Indirection we see that Mrs. Sternhold and Potter 
hold him in little esteem, for by reason of what has been 
said they proclaim that he has no soul for music or any- 
thing. The suggestion of the dinner at Richmond tomor- 
row indirectly brings out the fact that Mrs. Sternhold is to 
have a dinner at home, and incidentally we see that she is 
in control of the domestic arrangements. It has all been 
led up to Indirectly and Conditions have been brought out 
Indirectly. Because he cannot get them to agree with him 
on anything, Mildmay is about to go to earth up the 
celery. That he was given to raising vegetables did not 
come into the scene by accident. Here was the proper 
place for its introduction; it is only an incidental fact; and 
it belongs to the Conditions Precedent and the Material 



24O ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

of the play. It existed before this particular scene was 
thought of. The author wanted to show also that Mrs. 
Sternhold was in authority in the house and he does that 
by having her shut off Potter when he starts to protest 
against both Potter and Mildmay show that authority which 
dinner. Observe that in doing this the main object of the 
scene is not forgotten, for Mrs. Sternhold's accusations 
against both Potter and Mildmay show that authority that 
goes far to explain the subjugation of Mildmay. The author 
had Mildmay fall asleep in order to allow Mrs. Sternhold 
to speak of him as stupid and "without a will of his own." 
It was the Indirect way of getting at it. He wanted to in- 
troduce this opinion. Indirectly we have gathered from 
the scene all the relations of the people. Mildmay and 
Emily are husband and wife, have been married just one 
year, Potter is the brother of Mrs. Sternhold who is the 
aunt of Emily; Mildmay employs himself working in the 
garden, earths up celery, used to be fond of "Auld Robin 
Gray" before he and Emily were married, Emily adores 
Beethoven, Potter and the aunt think he has no soul for 
music or anything, the aunt and the wife are hand in glove, 
Mrs. Sternhold dominates Potter, she has a sharp temper, 
will not permit argument with herself; and she is a prac- 
tical person, for she says that poetry and romance are not 
such safe investments as the three per cents. In the talk 
between Mrs. Sternhold and Potter we learn Indirectly that 
Emily is his only daughter and that she is to inherit every- 
thing at his death. We even hear that Potter is eighteen 
years older than his sister. The exact difference in their 
ages is not important enough to be brought in in any other 
way. This, indeed, may have been a bit of material created 
under the inspiration of the moment in writing the dialogue. 
The author may not have to go in search of this partic- 
ular bit of material ; it may have come to him, but it is possi- 
ble that he had fixed the ages in the Conditions Precedent. 
We get the facts about the settlement of eight thousand 
pounds on Emily and Mrs. Sternhold's insistence on Pot- 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 24I 

ter's investment with Hawksley. Could it be more Indi- 
rect, how Potter's suspicions of Hawksley's relations with 
Emily are led up to? Indirection is a scale with fine bal- 
ances in which to weigh things. If Potter had begun the 
conversation with the expression of his suspicions too much 
importance would have been given to him in the matter. 
Personally, he is not thereafter concerned in the affair. 
But by the Indirection of it all Mrs. Sternhold's suspicions 
are aroused. Here we have the use of Indirection as an 
active principle purposely applied in order to promote the 
Action. It is no longer the mere introduction of facts 
in the right way and in the right place by Indirection, but 
a larger thing, the Action. In serving that purpose, how- 
ever, the Indirection of the scene purveys a great deal of 
information derived from the Conditions Precedent. So 
far we have seen two activities of Indirection as a living 
Principle. We have applied it to "getting in" facts from 
the Material and the Conditions Precedent, firstly, as Facts, 
secondly, in the right place. For that matter Sequence is 
to be considered within the scenes and with reference to 
the scene itself as a scene. That is to say, we introduce 
the facts according to the structure of the play and then 
to the structure of the scenes. The less important a fact or 
an idea is the more Indirectly it will be introduced. That 
both Mildmay and Potter fall asleep after dinner is a de- 
tail of the kind. It is as remote from the Proposition of the 
play as can be imagined. Mildmay's freeing himself from 
the existing domination is the thing, but his position in 
the household remains incidental until he exposes and 
thwarts the shrewd financial scheme. The same may be said 
of the facts introduced incidentally as to the criminal his- 
tory of Hawksley. If the play had to be worked out in de- 
tail on that point of attack and conflict the facts or prem- 
ises would have been made specific in the beginning and the 
treatment would have been different. 

To return to the first scene. We see many things about 
which not a word is said between the characters directly. 
16 



242 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Mildmay is patient, forbearing, domestic, affectionate, fond 
of gardening, simple in his tastes for music, respectful in 
manner, bored by the state of affairs, but with love for 
his wife; Emily is sentimental, accomplished, and she 
shows that by a few bars of Beethoven on the piano under 
the control of the aunt, nagging, unreasonable and discon- 
tented with her prosaic husband. Mrs. Sternhold orders 
the arrangement of the house, she is sharp and domineer- 
ing. Potter is nobody, and has spoiled his daughter by the 
very lack of exercise of authority. That he does not at- 
tempt to control her is seen later on when he confides to 
Mrs. Sternhold his suspicions as to the relations between 
his daughter and Hawksley instead of taking the matter in 
hand himself. Did these points that impress one so clearly 
on reading or witnessing the play get into it accidentally, 
the author "making it up as he went along," or had he de- 
termined the substantial things from the beginning? It 
all came from the Material and Conditions Precedent. It 
began to take shape in Proposition and Plot and finally 
through the division into Acts and Scenes reached the 
Action which we see. 

We get at the relations between Mrs. Sternhold and 
Hawksley Indirectly. That he has incriminating letters 
from her is not disclosed until toward the end of the scene 
between them, and yet without the letters and what is in- 
volved in them the scene would be tame. 

Imagine the case, — that within five minutes after the rise 
of the curtain it should be communicated to the audience, 
by means known best to the amateur and usually by solilo- 
quy or other clumsy device, (for there is no more intricate 
"art" than that of the amateur) that Mildmay knows of the 
existence of bills forged by Hawksley, that Mrs. Sternhold 
knows of Hawksley's duplicity and designs on Emily, and 
that Hawksley has thirteen love letters from her, &c, &c, 
the Action would be stunted from its birth; the charm of 
Indirection in the progressive Action would be lost. We 
could no longer see the grass grow, no longer watch Nature 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 243 

developing the bud into the mature beauty of the flower; 
for the drama enables us to witness nature in the develop- 
ment of human ideas. 

This play is particularly good in the matter of Indirec- 
tion. 

In "A New Way to Pay Old Debts" we have a very 
striking example of Indirection in the very first scene, for 
we could hardly expect that the downfallen wretch who 
was being thrust from the inn has the moral right of in- 
dignation against the tapster, and would, before the scene 
is over, enlist our sympathies on his side. We see him as 
he is and then hear what he was. He is abject at first and 
then rises to his inborn dignity and just wrath. It would 
seem to be a roundabout way of bringing out the Story of 
the past, but that Story is in itself an active conflagration 
concerning the present, kindled by what happens before our 
eyes. It is Indirect, because the past is summoned up by the 
exigencies of the living moment. It is almost impossible to 
destroy every trace of a dramatic principle, but if we im- 
agine Wellborn sitting on the steps of the inn and narrat- 
ing to us directly, as might be said, his woes and his past, 
and then compare it with the animated scene which has in 
it all the Action, objective and subjective and physical, 
we may realize how paltry would be the direct method of 
conveying to us these facts. Of course, there would be 
some Indirection if Wellborn were sitting there refused 
admission, because his reflections would be caused by the 
circumstances, and in that way would be Indirect. But the 
drama is not satisfied with anything but the best of its 
kind. A better Indirection was found by Massinger, and 
we enjoy the same largely by reason of its Indirectness. 
Massinger is so fine in the practical application of the car- 
dinal principles of the drama, that an exercise in trying to 
convert his something into nothing would be a rather for- 
midable task. It partakes of the nature of desecration to try 
to distort by way of exercises the wonderfully compact reali- 
ties of this play. Probably one of the best uses of Indirection 



244 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

made by Massinger may be seen in his subtle method of 
showing the developing relations between Lord Lovell and 
Lady Allworth. One is almost inclined to believe that Lord 
Lovell is making his visit to Lady Allworth by her per- 
mission, and with a tacit understanding on the part of 
these noble characters of the possibilities of the future. She 
has refused to admit any of her many suitors to her pres- 
ence. Indeed, she turns away strangers whether they are 
suitors or not. Sir Giles visits her in vain. Now, such an 
impression does each word or sentence make upon the 
mind that we find it constantly going back of the text, and 
we often discern a reflex Action in passages which con- 
stantly are brought to the mind and live again long after 
their utterance. Thus, when Wellborn and Allworth talk 
apart, two speeches between Tapwell and Froth intervene, 
and in the meanwhile Allworth has imparted to Wellborn 
what is evidently a secret. Wellborn's first sentence is, 
"sent to your mother?" Now, at this point, and indeed 
later on, it is left to us to imagine why he is sent to his 
mother. Details are not necessary in the Dialogue at this 
point as to Lovell's state of feeling or conditional purpose 
as to Lady Allworth, but we must assume that Allworth is 
to get his mother's consent to accompany Lord Lovell to 
the lowlands. At any rate, Lord Lovell is to follow. Lady 
Allworth's inquiries of Allworth about his "noble master" 
indirectly tell us of her regard for her future master. It is 
a kind of Indirection whereby Justice Greedy's character 
is so divertingly brought out, in that occasions are inci- 
dentally provided for his talk and his antics. Everything 
in the play is brought out Objectively as the result of the 
clash of conflicting interest and characters, and this, again, 
is a kind of Indirectness. Attention has been called to the 
Indirection throughout the relations between Lord Lovell 
and Lady Allworth. So much for conditions and passive 
facts. The Indirection of the Plot or the Action directly 
concerning them is also distinctly admirable. The coming 
together of these two people is brought about Indirectly 



INDIRECTION IS THE DRAMATIC METHOD 245 

by events. Lady Allworth is led to talk with Lord Lovell 
concerning Sir Giles's open offer to give him his daughter 
Margaret in marriage. The audience knows that he is act- 
ing for Tom Allworth in all honesty. Lady Allworth thinks 
it proper to remind him that men of noble blood and fame 
and honor would not make sordid wealth the object and 
sole end of their aims. Naturally, he tells her that he does 
not intend to wed with the rich Margaret. She then asks 
him why pretend his suit; in reply he asks her why she has 
so prodigally bestowed her favors on Wellborn ; but she an- 
swers that she is innocent and that her ends are good. They 
come to an understanding of each other, and the way is 
paved for future talk between them. A beautiful scene 
would have been lost and Indirection would have been de- 
stroyed if, in the making of the play, Massinger had had 
them arrange between them their respective plans and du- 
plicity in the aid of Wellborn and Allworth. The Indirect- 
ness of the Plot has led to Indirectness in the Action and in 
the scenes themselves. 



CHAPTER XXL 



OBJECTIVITY— THE VISUAL. 

Objectivity is that quality in the Drama whereby Facts, 
ideas and emotions are visualized or are expressed by phy- 
sical means. 

The effect of the drama depends largely upon the eye, 
what is seen, consequently the dramatist must constantly 
seek to translate everything possible into the visible. Busi- 
ness accomplishes something of this, but the necessity of 
showing things bodily applies in a larger sense. In "Ingo- 
mar" the author wishes to show that the Allemani are bar- 
barians. Note how he does this in the second act. They 
are throwing dice, and finally they quarrel and are about to 
slay each other. It was absolutely essential to show their 
nature in some way in a scene devoted mainly to this pur- 
pose. The incident also serves to show the authority of In- 
gomar over his men when he parts them. That Myron is 
used as a slave is shown by his having a bundle of wood on 
his shoulders as he enters. He is ordered to perform servile 
duties. That is: The author translates into the Objective 
and visible these things: They are savages, Ingomar was 
their master in fierceness and spirit, Myron was a slave. He 
wanted to show Ingomar's opinion of women, and devised 
the incident of Myron's weeping because he is separated 
from his daughter and wife, so as to give Ingomar a reason 
to express himself on the subject of women. These oppor- 
tunities did not come by accident or by the wandering im- 
agination of the author. He invented them for a particular 
use in a particular place. How poor it would be if Parthe- 
nia should preach love to Ingomar offhand. The author 
gave her the occasion to describe it as she weaves the gar- 
lands and puts the flowers about the cup, the picture resolv- 
ing itself into one of lovers. A writer of genius, but not of 
dramatic genius or experience, might have these two char- 



OBJECTIVITY — THE VISUAL 247 

acters say pretty much all they do say with no more occa- 
sion than is involved in the talk itself. Why could not 
Parthenia argue the point with him that she is no slave? 
She could. But the dramatist translates and expresses that 
by having her disobey Ingomar. "I go to cleanse the cup." 
See also the use made of the spear and the shield. A 
drama is pictorial above all things. These pictures, how- 
ever, must be bound together by the Plot and the Action. 
Try to recall any play you have seen and you will recog- 
nize that you can do so mainly by what you have seen 
rather than by what you have heard. What you have seen 
is far more distinct, at least. The essential thing must be 
seen, symbolized. Imagine Juliet describing her falling in 
love with Romeo at sight, and the scene between the lovers 
omitted. Yet substantially that same thing is done in 
many plays which fail. But, observe that no one principle 
stands by itself. What is shown must be the right things 
in the right place, and must be drama. We call your par- 
ticular attention to this process of the dramatist's mind in 
providing Objective scenes which include all the other 
means of expression. The whole tendency of the drama is 
toward symbolizing everything, and when a miser is de- 
picted, his greed and spirit are shown as he gloats over his 
coin. This is not suggested as inevitable. It does not 
mean that that is the only symbolism that can be used. 
Neptune is symbolized with his trident, and thus is conven- 
tionalized. Polydor is a miser and his leading passion is 
expressed sufficiently in what he says and does. 

Certain things in a play must be made visual, that is to 
say, Objective. Immaterial things need not be shown, but 
the Material things must be. In the very first scene of 
"The Lady of Lyons" we see the pride. Instigated by her 
mother, Pauline is out for an exalted marriage ; that is plain 
enough. She has suitors ; the flowers show that ; Beauseant 
appears to ask for her hand; and the reference by Damas 
to the ball adds to the proof. It is not necessary to go 
into further detail by way of proof. That she wants a title 



248 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

appears in the talk with Damas. We are left in no doubt 
about that, for she rejects Beauseant because he has lost his 
in the revolution. That Melnotte was in love with her is 
made Objective by means of a scene specially devised for 
the purpose, where he talks with her mother. He has given 
his days to painting her picture; his thoughts have been 
occupied with her image. Beauseant's mortification at his 
rejection is actually seen, also his rage and desire for re- 
venge when he talks with Glavis. That Beauseant discov- 
ers the very man for his scheme is actually seen. It was not 
material to show Pauline's scorn of the flowers and verse 
sent by Melnotte and her treatment of Gasper, for we ac- 
cept the facts as logical, but we do see the effect on Mel- 
notte when Gasper relates his experience. Imagine this 
scene omitted and Melnotte's telling his mother, at second 
hand, of the treatment accorded to his messenger. He is 
seen to receive the note from Beauseant. Imagine Beause- 
ant and Glavis merely telling of Melnotte's disposition of 
their jewels, and the Objective scene omitted. In certain 
circumstances it might have been omitted, but it plays a 
part in the Plot and the Action. It was needed as a visible 
thing. The duel between Damas and Melnotte had to be 
made Objective, for it not only confirms the accomplished 
character of the "Prince," but turns Damas into a friend, 
and that is of the utmost importance. If for no other rea- 
son, the scene of love in which Melnotte tells of his palace 
was necessary to show Pauline's complete surrender. Ob- 
jectivity also means the pictorial element in a play, the 
conveyance of Facts by means of the eye. Thus, Objec- 
tivity saves words and is one of the greatest economies in 
a play. Melnotte's humble home had to be shown, and in 
like way everything that had to be shown was predeter- 
mined. 

Objectivity, or the reduction to the visible, concrete ex- 
pression is aimed at and secured in every good drama. It 
is of Objectivity all compact, so that we need not point out 
every example, and we shall dwell more particularly on cer- 



OBJECTIVITY — THE VISUAL 249 

tain necessities of it from the Constructive point of view. 
Nothing in a play stands alone ; being merely Objective 
does not necessarily count, but only when the Objectivity 
has reference to the objects of the play and the relations of 
the parts. In all probability, before he had finally shaped 
his Plot of "Camille" Dumas saw the necessity of 
certain Objective scenes; among them the supper 
scene of gayety and revelry in order to give the 
atmosphere and surroundings of Camille, and the gay dance 
at the close of the act. The last act may also have been 
pretty well advanced, because obligatory and determined 
upon before the completion of the Plot in detail. Thinking 
in Objective scenes is a much larger matter than frivoling 
one's time away in details of Business before you are ready 
for the Business. Scenery and costumes are the readiest 
resources of the Objective. Passing over the Objectivity 
revealed at the rise of the curtain, the handsome apartment, 
the maid in simple attire and a gentleman of fashion, we 
come to the constructive device of showing Nichette as a 
working girl. The bundle she calls for is Objective, and 
none the less so are her relations with Camille and with 
Gustave, whom she is so impatient to rejoin. A fine Objec- 
tive point is gained in Camille's entrance in the opera cloak, 
which she throws aside. Her indifference to Varville is 
Objectively shown in various ways and by several inci- 
dents. It may be thought that Objectivity is thus made 
almost identical with acting; very true, but acting is only a 
part of it, and the occasion is provided by the author. Act- 
ing is the final realization of the art of the playwright. 
When, in the previous scene, Varville says that his suit 
does not thrive, the Objective consists in his despondency 
and perplexity; the fact of Camille's indifference remained 
to be shown. It is not a repetition. She bids him go ; he sits 
by the fire ; she goes to the piano and plays ; and when, later 
on, he drums on the piano she expresses her impatience at 
the "noise." We do not confine the Objective solely to the 
visible, for the words may also give open expression to 



25O ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

sentiment, aided by voice and gesture and facial expression. 
In the supper scene the characters are all made Objective. 
There is no description ; it is the thing itself. An admir- 
able scene, the author playing on the instrument with both 
hands and all his fingers. Note how many changes are 
rung on the greed of Prudence. A number of small but im- 
portant points are missed in this version. Attention is 
called in the original to the seriousness of Armand, and it 
is noted that Camille addresses him by his first name. Her 
illness is made Objective; then Armand's solicitude and 
passion. Camille gives Armand the camelia, which is objec- 
tive and symbolic. The final scene is an object lesson in 
folly, they come dancing in, "dressed fantastically in each 
other's hats and bonnets." A fine use is made of Objectiv- 
ity in the matter of the light shawl and the heavier wrap. 
Then we have the letter from Varville, a tangible thing, and 
then her tearing it up to signify her break with Varville. 
How much stronger this is than if it were mere talk, how- 
ever definite and conclusive, ending with her agreement to 
have nothing more to do with Varville. The idea would have 
been conveyed, but here we have a specific example of the 
tendency of the drama toward the Objective. It is essen- 
tially and fully dramatic ; the other method would not have 
been. This Objectivity is not a matter of chance, but was 
carefully devised by Dumas. How shall I express this or 
that in an Objective way, was his constant though^. He 
determined upon the What first and then the How. In the 
third act: "Are not these sweet flowers which Armand 
gave me this morning ?" Objectivity. How much stronger 
than if it were "Armand sent me flowers this morning," 
and no flowers to bury her face in. It is also Objective 
that the flowers are simple and culled by Armand's hands, 
in contrast with those seen in the first act when she "used 
to spend as much on bouquets as would have kept a poor 
family a whole year." The gaiety that comes from love 
is made Objective in the scenes between Camille and Gus- 
tave and Nichette. The great scene between Camille and 



OBJECTIVITY — THE) VISUAL 25 1 

Duval is the thing itself. That is what Objectivity really is 
— the real thing itself. Camille writes the letter; her anx- 
iety at his absence is seen, and finally her broken heart. 
Passing over introductory incidents in the Fourth Act we 
come to the gaming table. This game was devised in order 
to supply Armand Objectively with the money which he 
is to shower over her, in his scorn, by way of repayment, at 
the end of the act. He might have secured the money while 
he was away at Tours, and just as conveniently showered 
it on her. Why not? Because Dumas knew his trade; he 
accounted for the possession of the money Objectively, and 
using this means wasted no Words and needed no explana- 
tion. On top of it comes the climax of the inevitable duel. 
What an economy of talk? The Objectivity of the last act 
is obvious and natural. Much of it belongs to Business, 
such as the Business of looking into the glass to be horrified 
by the face of death that meets her gaze. The play is un- 
commonly full, however, of the Objectivity of Business. 

The dramatist is constantly required to exercise the 
power of discrimination. It is easy to fall into error if one 
does not realize the exacting and precise nature of dramatic 
principle. Nothing short of a certain quality will satisfy 
drama. For instance, one may say of a scene he may have 
written: It is objective. No? why not? are not the char- 
acters there on the stage Objectively before the eye? Are 
they not bringing out certain facts Objectively by discuss- 
ing them? Very true, the people are Objective, but their 
ideas are not; what you want to show is not shown Objec- 
tively. You miss the real thing. 

In the first scene of "Still Waters Run Deep" the drama- 
tist wants to show that Mildmay is without authority in 
his own house, that he is regarded as a man without 
spirit or a will of his own. Imagine Mildmay out of the 
scene while Potter, Mrs. Sternhold and Mrs. Mildmay 
talked about him. Pretty much all that happens in the 
scene might be described as having happened. Mrs. Stern- 
hold may have arranged for the dinner; Mrs. Mildmay may 



252 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

have refused to take the quiet dinner with her husband 
at Richmond on this account; Potter might easily concur 
with them that Mildmay had no spirit for music or any- 
thing. All this might have shown their opinion of Mild- 
may, and we might infer that Mildmay was henpecked 
and without authority, but it would be at second 
hand. It would not be Objectivity as applied to 
showing that Mildmay was without consideration in his 
own household. It would have gone a part of the way, 
but the drama wants the thing itself. Objectivity is asso- 
ciated in practice with concrete things. It must be about 
something. Here we have the music, the proposed dinner, 
the interference by Mrs. Sternhold's dinner, a reason for the 
charge that Mildmay is without a soul for anything, the 
vegetables, falling asleep, playing for Mrs. Sternhold and 
not for Mildmay, the dissatisfaction of the women with all 
that he does. Nothing is merely talked about ; everything 
is shown. Not only the one thing is put before us, happen- 
ing before our eyes, but all the correlative things. The fam- 
ily are against him. Why? Partly because he has not 
chosen to assert himself against the domination of the 
women. He never quarrels. They are unreasonable; we 
see it. The dramatist had to show it all, not by talk about 
abstract things, but giving occasion to the talk on specific 
things. He takes from his material. His notes help him. 
He has fixed the relations of the characters. He has ascer- 
tained all their characteristics. He has determined on his 
Plot. He requires this scene. His business is then to make 
it Objective. He wishes to show that Mrs. Sternhold con- 
trols the investments, consequently, we have the scene in 
which Potter defers to her judgment. Potter merely sus- 
pects the influence of Hawksley over Mrs. Mildmay. This 
is Objective enough, for his reason for suspecting those re- 
lations, or rather for expressing them, is his growing lack of 
confidence in the integrity of Hawksley. But if he had 
later described the scene that ensues between' the rascal and 
Emily that scene would certainly not have been Objective. 



OBJECTIVITY — THE VISUAL 253 

It would not have been the thing itself, but a description of 
it. It is not that everything has to be made Objective, but 
all essential things have to be. Take no substitutes. By 
means of that interview we see that Hawksley is a rascal. 
It is not hearsay. There are things that cannot be de- 
scribed. The "way of a man with a maid" or a silly, senti- 
mental woman is one of them. The undramatic "person" 
only will describe them, and thereby confess his inability 
to present the thing as it was. To destroy the Objective 
right and left convert it into talk. Get far away from the 
real thing and shoot at it with the primitive bows and ar- 
rows of the amateur, and never hit it. We must show 
whatever it is necessary to show. The letters have been 
written and Hawksley has them in his possession. Do we 
have to show the actual letters in order to convince the 
audience? No. Hawksley might be carrying them about 
with him and produce them, but Mrs. Sternhold's conster- 
nation when the threat is made that they will be used 
against her is sufficient. Her quarrel with him proves that 
there has been an affair; we see a part of it. These letters 
have to be in evidence later on. Still, we must get as close 
to Objectivity as we can. If Mrs. Sternhold had spoken of 
the letters before the interview it would not have been close 
enough. Her jealousy and anger are shown. 

It usually takes a whole scene to show Objectively a par- 
ticular thing, and it is for that reason that the dramatic 
mind thinks in scenes. Hawksley is a polished villain and 
he is playing on the romantic nature of Emily. We see him 
at his game when we hear him talk of Seville. 

When the author determined on the scene in Hawks- 
ley's rooms he realized that he had something concrete. 

Here was Objectivity. Here was his chance to show 
Mildmay in his resolute character. He filled it with many 
little touches of fine Action. Mildmay troubles Hawksley 
for a light ; Hawksley is agitated ; we see that Mildmay's 
nerves are firm ; his hand does not tremble. 

In short, Taylor demonstrates Character, emotions, Plot, 



254 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

everything. He had, for example, to show the subjugation 
of Mrs. Sternhold. The scene in which Mildmay returns to 
her the letters is absolutely conclusive. The secret is held 
by these two only. Mrs. Sternhold controlled the house- 
hold. Her subjugation was absolutely necessary and had 
to be shown. Once the Action is started, the Plot is worked 
out by what happens, by what people DO. If they do 
things, the things are seen. If material to the Action they 
must be done on the stage, and not off stage. Certain 
things may happen off stage, but there must be a reason 
for it. The Greek drama has much happen off stage which 
we now would show. Death and suicide the Greeks did not 
tolerate on the stage. But what happened off stage was 
usually inevitable. It may be that we are left too much in 
the dark as to the purpose of Mildmay's intended trip to 
Manchester in the beginning. Possibly something Objec- 
tive showing that he was on the track of the scoundrel by 
means of his detectives might have helped the Action, but 
the author probably considered everything and weighed ef- 
fects properly. The play is at least remarkable in its abso- 
lute fidelity to life in a number of its objective scenes. 

Every effective and technically good play is an object 
lesson. The theatre is the kindergarten of humanity. While 
every play should be of Objectivity compact, a difference 
between them may, at times, be noted or felt. It would be 
difficult to find a play more markedly Objective than "A 
New Way to Pay Old Debts." The effect, in large mea- 
sure proceeds from the dramatic habit of Massinger's mind. 
He projected himself entirely away from the limitations of 
self. The result is that the characters stand out with abso- 
lute distinctness. He built it with material that existed, as it 
were, without his agency. There is a foolish notion among 
writers of a certain kind that they must "create" things 
that have never before existed on earth. Massinger saw 
things as they were and was content to use them in their 
proper shape. His mind was none the less creative in the 
combinations it formed, and the degree of sentiment and 



OBJECTIVITY — THE VISUAL 255 

character it worked with. His art is visible in the very 
opening of the play. We realize it just as we do the merit 
or mastery of a musician with the first touch of his fingers 
upon the keys. He intended to show us at once the des- 
perate extremity of a spendthrift outcast. We see it not 
alone in the aspect and sorry habiliment of Wellborn, but 
every circumstance of the past and the present conform 
Objectively to that which was made known Objectively on 
the instant. In many other plays of his, Massinger was 
often in fault technically in comparison with methods of 
the present state of the art, but he was always Objective. 
I have called attention to that operation of the dramatic 
mind which, in gathering the material for a play, fixes upon 
scenes. It makes an entire idea or part of the play, with 
subordinate and incidental ideas grouped under it, into a 
scene; and then it assembles the parts. We are ready now 
to look into the methods of Construction, and we find at 
once that Objectivity is largely governed after the manner 
indicated. It refers back to the material. Take the scene 
between Sir Giles and Marralll with which the second act 
opens. The main object of the scene is to show Sir Giles's 
unrelenting pursuit of his nephew, but incidental to that it 
is Objectively shown to us the use that Sir Giles makes 
of his tools, Marrall and Greedy. Except for this scene 
with this particular object, no reference could be made in 
the play to Master Frugal and Overreach's methods in get- 
ting possession of the coveted property and it was not nec- 
essary to introduce Frugal. It was necessary to show 
Sir Giles in contact with Wellborn. That is accomplished in 
the brief scene, and it is followed by a scene in which Mar- 
rail's attitude to the spendthrift is shown. These things 
had to be at first hand. It was necessary to make Objec- 
tive the state in which Lady Allworth lived, the pampered 
insolence of her retainers, and her own beautiful well poised 
character. These scenes had to be, and they are worked out 
in fine detail. It finally resolves itself down to a question 
of determining upon what things must be actually shown 



256 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

and seen. It is not avoidable by way of Preparation to sug- 
gest Character and Facts in advance if the Action so de- 
mands, but if essential to the play these Facts and charac- 
teristics are confirmed in visible scenes later on. It was 
necessary to show Tom Allworth's repudiation of his friend 
Wellborn. Note that it is accomplished in a single sentence 
on the part of Allworth. It is a short scene, but the 
scene had to be. Just as we can at times, anticipate 
things and confirm them afterwards, so the event that 
has taken place becomes operative in the Action by its 
previous objectivity. In this way, when Marrall tells Sir 
Giles of his having feasted with Wellborn and Lady All- 
worth, the previous Objectivity of the scene which he de- 
scribes merges into the Objectivity involved in Man-all's 
talk with Sir Giles. Sir Giles's treatment of Marrall and 
his blows had to be shown. Now, whenever anything has 
to be shown there must be occasion for it. We have the 
reason why Sir Giles strikes Marrall; we have the Objec- 
tive reason as the play proceeds why Marrall turns traitor 
to his master. The Necessary and the Unnecessary and Facts 
are involved in this question of Objectivity. It was to 
be shown that Lord Lovell was to hold faith with Tom 
Allworth in pretending to pay suit to the beautiful heiress. 
Nothing could be better in the way of Objectivity than the 
management of the character of Justice Greedy. No amount 
of description would have sufficed to make him stand out 
as a living creature, but the occasion is provided for his 
manifestation of character. Not only are the characters 
living figures by reason of what they do, but every detail 
of the Action required by the Plot is bodied forth. A writer 
intent more on Plot than on realities might have omitted 
the two scenes between Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth 
which prepare the way for their union and finally make it 
sure. The play i$ eminently substantial because it is 
worked out in all of its essential parts. That a fraudulent 
deed of conveyance had been put upon Wellborn has been 
made known from the beginning of the Action, but the 



OBJECTIVITY — THE) VISUAL 257 

existence of the deed is clinched Objectively by bringing in 
the box, whereupon it is discovered that the writing has 
been razed. What a powerful Objective scene it is when 
Sir Giles defeated in all his ambitions and schemes falls 
into madness. The scene would not have effectiveness if 
his character and his evil doings had not been brought 
plainly to our view in leading up to this great scene. The 
very violence of his passion at the supreme moment is but 
the culmination of the unbridled passion which we have 
seen at every step in the play in which he appears. Usually, 
scenes of sudden madness have the effect of theatrical arti- 
fice, but not so in this case. There is nothing charged 
against Sir Giles that is not made manifest sooner or 
later. The cumulative proof of Facts in this play is ad- 
mirable. We first see that Wellborn has been brought 
to his low state through the machinations of his uncle. 
The fact is repeated again and again, but each time it is 
called forth under different circumstances. The fact that 
he has defrauded his nephew is made absolutely convinc- 
ing in our minds by the methods which he pursues against 
every one who stands in his way to wealth and power. 
Massinger was not satisfied with the mere exercise of Sir 
Giles's craft against Wellborn. Note how conclusively 
Massinger demonstrates and makes Objective the purity 
and sweetness of Margaret. Observe that it is always 
about something that these proofs come before us. How 
remote from the mere telling, however elaborate such tell- 
ing- might be, of the purity and sweetness of the girl. These 
qualities are made Objective in the scene with her father 
in which she resents his advice as to her proper conduct 
with Lord Lovell. When Allworth describes her purity 
and sweetness to Wellborn in one scene, and to Lord 
Lovell in another the Objectivity consists in showing his 
love for the girl, and his esteem for her sweetness and her 
purity. But it is in the latter scenes that these qualities 
are established. The Proposition of the play itself re- 
17 



258 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

quires that Sir Giles be tricked, that he is tricked is shown 
in a succession of scenes. It would seem hardly possible 
for any dramatist not to make Objective that which the 
very Proposition requires, but it is not uncommon in im- 
perfectly written plays. The Plot of all parts of the play 
should be set forth Objectively. Certainly Massinger made 
sure of these points. Sir Giles in speaking of his ambitions 
for his daughter, describes how he wishes to have her 
served by decayed gentlewomen. Did Massinger's objec- 
tive mind let that pass, strong as it is, as sufficient? No, 
he has Margaret seen with two female attendants. It is 
true that he does not bring forward the decayed gentle- 
women in a speaking part, but you may be sure that one 
of her attendants is that decayed gentlewoman. It is a 
touch of Objectivity. The giving of the signet ring by Sir 
Giles, which plays such a part in his own ruin, is plainly 
according to the dramatic habit of Massinger to be Objec- 
tive. Word of mouth was not enough. How can I make 
it Objective, asked Massinger? And he sought a means in 
objects and customs lying at hand. His whole tendency is 
toward the Objective, even in details. Of course, mere 
Objectivity is not enough, but when fortified by Proposi- 
tion, Sequence, Cause and Effect and other co-operative 
dramatic principles, the ultimate aim of Objectivity is 
reached in every good play, if not always in the masterly 
way in which it is compassed in "A New Way to Pay Old 
Debts." 



CHAPTER XXII. 



THE UNEXPECTED. 

The Unexpected is that inherent quality in dramatic Ac- 
tion which must manifestly exist at all moments, as to 
means and results, until everything at issue is solved. 

We now come to a most important principle, the Unex- 
pected, the very opposite of "Story," for the Unexpected thing 
must arise out of the active relations and conditions of the 
moment and must, consequently, be absolutely new, be- 
cause the unexpected would be otherwise impossible. It 
is an absolute test of whether your play is dramatic and has 
Action or not. In other words, unless, the happenings in a 
play are Unexpected or lead to the Unexpected, you have 
no play. This dramatic Unexpectedness cannot exist in 
Mere Life, for it would cease to be mere life if the happen- 
ings had significance with reference to a progressive Action. 
This does not imply that the principle is an artificial one. In 
what does the interest in Life itself consist? In that we do 
not know what the next day will bring forth, (in drama it 
must be in the next moment). After the next day has pass- 
ed, what has happened becomes Story. We may hope for 
something to happen in the future, but uncertainty gives 
the hope its zest. Apply this to "Ingomar." Parthenia 
refuses to accede to her mother's demand that she marry 
Polydor, unexpectedly to us she reconsiders and will 
marry him under conditions; unexpectedly, Polydor is too 
sordid ; unexpectedly Myron is made captive ; unexpectedly, 
the citizens cannot or will not help her to secure the ran- 
som; unexpectedly, the Timarch cannot aid, for there is an 
ancient law against it ; unexpectedly, Polydor will not listen 
to her, now that she relents ; unexpectedly, by reason of the 
development of circumstances, she determines to go and 
offer herself as hostage for her father. In the second act 
it is so worked up that we feel that Parthenia's going can 



200 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

result in her own ruin only; to impart this feeling in the 
audience the author shows the savagery of the barbarians 
first. We are shown in the scene between Ingomar and 
Myron that Ingomar despises a woman, and we feel that 
Parthenia's mission is hopeless, particularly if she comes 
there to plead. Unexpectedly, she is accepted as hostage; 
unexpectedly she defines her position as not that of a slave, 
and wins the love of Ingomar; and so substantially all that 
happens is Unexpected ; not by way of caprice, but through 
the development of the Action. It is by means of the Un- 
expected that you get Action and progress at every step. 
The Proposition of a play, in its problem, in its last clause, 
involves the Unexpected; we provide for it in the Plot, 
set it down in the scenes, and in the handling of the Action 
and the Dialogue of those scenes we take care that we reach 
these Unexpected structural things in an Unexpected way. 
To have an audience know or anticipate what was going to 
happen and how it was going to happen would deprive a 
play of all interest. This Unexpectedness may be destroyed 
in a great many ways by an improper technical use of the 
other principles. If you will examine the play more mi- 
nutely than has just been done you will encounter Unex- 
pectedness at every step and in every line. 

Why things must arise Unexpectedly, the philosophy 
of it all, will be fully discussed later; it is enough, for the 
present, to be convinced that Unexpectedness is a neces- 
sity of the Action and a universal element in a play. 
Doubt as to results is always existent, it being almost the 
definition of Action ; so that every happening is, in a man- 
ner, Unexpected. Beauseant in "The Lady of Lyons" is 
rejected Unexpectedly; Damas ridicules the pretentions 
of the women Unexpectedly ; the expression of a wish for a 
plan to humble Pauline is Unexpected; the opportunity of 
executing that plan in hearing of Melnotte as a prince is 
Unexpected; that Melnotte, the gardener's son, loves Pau- 
line is Unexpected; that he has sent a message to her 
with love verses; that his messenger has been spurned; 



THE UNEXPECTED 26l 

that he is in a state of mind to consider the offer of the 
conspirators; that he accepts; are also in a manner Un- 
expected. Even the details of the treatment of the jewels 
confided to him are new to us. The cause of the suspicion 
of Damas and his means of testing Melnotte, the result of 
the duel which makes a friend of Damas, the effect on the 
conscience of Melnotte, the oath that binds Melnotte, the 
manner in which Beauseant forces an immediate marriage 
through fear of the Directory, taking Pauline to his moth- 
er's cottage, all the happenings there, the coming of Beau- 
seant, the conduct of Melnotte and the general change 
from resentment to love on the part of Pauline, and all 
the happenings in the last act are either Unexpected in 
themselves or in the manner of their evolution. Examine 
every line, and innumerable details of Unexpectedness will 
be found. Destroy, by giving Unnecessary and precipitate 
information, this Unexpectedness and you have no play. 
Suppose the audience had known in the first scene that 
the flowers were from Melnotte? Suppose Beauseant had 
known of the love of the gardener's son and of the title 
given him by the villagers from the opening of the play? 
Suppose the messenger had been spurned before the open- 
ing of the play? The present dramatic development of the 
story, largely by means of the Unexpected, would be impos- 
sible. Entire scenes would not have occurred to the author 
at all. 

The Unexpected is a resultant rather than a primary 
element in a play. It is to be found in the Plot, but be- 
comes of more and more use as we proceed, having a con- 
siderable function in the Dialogue itself. The Construc- 
tion of a play provides for a certain part of it. It is such a 
valuable element that it is largely used by way of trick 
in melodramas and plays of situation. Camille, being a 
drama of emotion, does not furnish us with any extraor- 
dinary number of examples. Still, its influence and use 
extend through the play, and we find a number of marked 
illustrations. It is in the nature of the drama that the 



262 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) 

development of the Action should constantly unfold new 
things, new relations, and a multiplied series of Causes 
and Effects. If it did not do so, it would not be drama, 
and would be exceedingly stale and unprofitable. In the 
opening of the play we are expecting Camille; Unexpect- 
edly, it is Nichette who comes. This is not exactly a trick, 
but it counts. The Construction of the scene and the 
Sequence of ideas require that we should first see Var- 
ville waiting for Camille. In a sense, all that develops 
concerning Nichette is Unexpected, because new to us, 
but for the present we shall confine the examples to the 
more significant things and turns in the Action. It 
is Unexpected that Camille once worked as an embroid- 
eress. Even Varville did not know that before. It 
is a new fact, and in that sense the Unexpected, that Var- 
ville's suit does not thrive, while the whole history of Ca- 
mille in her relations with the Due de Meuriac is Unex- 
pected. It may be said that Camille's entrance is Unex- 
pected at the moment, for we have been interested and 
wholly absorbed in her history by Nanine. The nature of 
her illness when it first comes to our attention is Unex- 
pected. That Prudence has a young man with her when 
she is called is Unexpected, and Prudence's announcement 
to Camille that this young man is "the man of all Paris 
who loves you the most" is Unexpected. This modesty and 
seriousness of character is Unexpected. That Camille should 
begin to like him, in view of the fact that we know that 
she cares for no one, is Unexpected. That his reference 
to his sister attracts Camille's attention, is Unexpected. 
Apart from the Action of the supper scene, which has been 
fully discussed, it is well to note that the scene is full of 
the Unexpected in the way of repartee. For instance, 
Madam Prudence: Age! and what age do you think I 
am?" Gaston: "I do not know. Indeed, I never studied 
ancient history, but you do not look more than forty, 
upon my honor!" Prudence: "Forty! thirty-six, if you 
please." Gaston: "Forty and thirty-six. Seventy — well, 



the: unexpected 263 

it does look more like that, I confess." The character of 
Armand's talk with Camille is wholly Unexpected, for it 
is on a loftier plane than could have been anticipated. 
There are also many turns of Unexpected emotion in this 
scene. The result of the scene is Unexpected. For the 
first time Camille finds "a new found meaning in those 
simple words that never fell upon my ears before." The 
second act opens with the Unexpected turn of affairs, 
when we see Camille preparing to seek the retirement of a 
country home and receiving money for that purpose from 
De Meuriac. In a minor way, the little incident of Pru- 
dence's borrowing the three or four hundred francs is 
Unexpected. That Armand has seen Varville leave the 
house and is jealous is Unexpected. The letter from Arm- 
and is Unexpected. Camille's giving the letter to Varville 
to read is Unexpected. That she accepts Varville's invi- 
tation to supper is Unexpected, and the incidents of her 
eddying passion are Unexpected, as when Camille enters 
quickly for a warmer wrap than a shawl. That Varville 
leaves in anger instead of waiting for her outside is Un- 
expected. There is some preparation for Camille's return, 
but Armand's impetuous urgings in the scene which follows 
are Unexpected, and her Action in tearing up Varville's let- 
ter and yielding to Armand are all the more Unexpected in 
that the moment before receiving the Unexpected letter, 
she has told Armand to leave. The strongest example of 
the Unexpected is the entrance of Armand's father. The 
Unexpectedness is emphasized by Camille believing him to 
be the agent who has charge of the sale. This is art, 
and not a mere trick. The surprise, however, is carefully 
managed. Almost from the very beginning of the scene 
we learn with surprise that it is the father of Armand. If 
one word had been spoken before this to lead us to antici- 
pate his appearance the effect would have been destroyed. 
While it is Unexpected, it is exactly what might have 
been expected in the circumstances; it is Self- Explana- 
tory. The Unexpected extends throughout the scene. 



264 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

What will Camille do? The Unexpected is not answered 
until, at the very close, she proceeds to the table to write 
the letter which is so fateful to her. But her sacrifice 
is not accomplished without a struggle in which the Unex- 
pected is constantly playing a part. The Unexpected in 
this scene is all embracing, for it involves Camille and Arm- 
and's father, as well as the audience. It is Unexpected that 
Armand arrives just as she finishes the letter. It is also 
Unexpected that she is able to stand the ordeal of her in- 
terview without revealing to him her secret. The rapid 
incidents that close the act are all incidental surprises. 
Certain facts are Unexpected by Armand, and the manner 
in which they are conveyed to the audience is Unexpected 
by the audience. We are kept in a constant state of ex- 
pectation during the Fourth act, and whenever there is a 
doubt as to the issue, this expectation necessarily involves 
the Unexpected. Thus, the Unexpected is of the very es- 
sence of the drama. Camille would not have sent for 
Armand in order to talk with him if it had not been for 
the Unexpected reference to the duel, and their talk is 
wholly Unexpected in nature, while the act Unexpectedly 
ends by Armand's throwing a shower of notes and gold 
upon Camille in payment for her sacrifice. Varville's re- 
senting this is not Unexpected, but the action is. It is Unex- 
pected that Camille, in the last act, should be abandoned 
by all. The Episodic happenings in the first part of the 
act are Unexpected while the audience hopes Armand will 
come, the fact that Camille expects him to come is with- 
held until, in her monologue, she reads the letter from 
Armand's father which she has had for six weeks. She 
lias reason to give up hope for Armand's appearance be- 
fore her death. Armand's Unexpected appearance is man- 
aged well. Camille realizes it is he who is coming before 
•she is actually told. Of course, at this point, the resources 
of the play are about exhausted, and it only remains for 
the Unexpected, which was in the Proposition of the play, 
to be realized at the very last, the purification of Camille 



THE UNEXPECTED 265 

by love and sacrifice and the reuniting of the lovers. Inas- 
much as the play opens with expectancy, it is obvious that, 
while the Unexpected is a dominant and distinct dramatic 
principle, we cannot exclude expectancy. The Action is 
compounded of both. Expectancy is usually on tiptoe, but 
there is a great difference between Expectancy and the 
Expected. A part only of the Expected is given at a time. 
There is always something remaining to whet the appe- 
tite and leave it unsatisfied up to the solution of that par- 
ticular thing. The Unexpected is the larger element and 
involves the Expected. The Unexpected is the prevailing 
element to that extent that the very opposite of what may 
be expected often takes place. Of course, this cannot 
happen to the reversal of that which is structural and a 
logical result, but it proves the domination of the Unex- 
pected. The Unexpected may occur in varying degrees, 
from a fulfillment of the Expected (only perhaps in a dif- 
ferent way, or by means that are not foreseen) or it may 
be absolutely Unexpected, but immediately Self-Explana- 
tory. Thus, it may be noted what great care is taken by 
Dumas to have the entrance of Duval, the father, a com- 
plete surprise. No one could expect his arrival at that 
particular moment, but we have called attention to the 
device of having it supposed that it is the agent. Prepa- 
ration involves the Expected, but it will be observed that 
the conflict in the Action is always so arranged that there 
is doubt, otherwise there would be no Action whatever. If 
the Preparation is too obvious and too elaborate, the ex- 
pectation becomes a certainty, and the Action is either im- 
paired or destroyed. In the early scene of the first act, 
preparation is made for the supper; that is absolute. 
There is no doubt whatever involved at this moment, or 
any other moment, as to the holding of the supper, but it 
is early in the Action, and is a presentation of Facts. The 
Unexpected is to happen during the supper. The devel- 
opment of new things has in it a certain Unexpectedness 
of the moment, but it is of the Unexpectedness of the 



266 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

future that we speak in using the term Unexpected. There 
is no over-preparation in this case. The supper is the back- 
ground for the real Action. What Camille's companions 
say and do develops character and supplies atmosphere, 
but it does not advance the Plot proper in the slightest 
degree. It is full of little bits of Unexpectedness and is 
an excellent example of minor Action. Expectancy or 
Preparation was needed for the coming of Camille; ex- 
pectation or Preparation for the entrance of Nichette was 
wholly unnecessary. The moment she made her appear- 
ance there was a rapid development of Unexpected facts 
and relations. All the Unexpectedness of the immediate 
Action while she is on the stage would have been utterly 
destroyed by too much Preparation. Unexpectedness is 
commonly an element that is almost invariably destroyed 
by the beginner by means of Story. Why could not Var- 
ville and Nanine have discussed Camille's friends? Why 
could not Nanine in the very first scene have told all about 
Nichette? It would have been natural enough, it could 
have happened in Life, and the unknowing writer would 
have inevitably fallen into mere talk and Words. It would 
have been matter in its wrong place. It would have been 
disorder; it would have been undramatic; it would have 
been taking out all the force from the scene in which 
Nichette figures. There would have been little or nothing 
for her to do or say. It would have been in wrong Se- 
quence, without Cause and Effect, and would have been 
lacking as to the structure of the play and as to the details 
of treatment; all economy would have been disregarded 
and repetition would have ensued. On the other hand, ex- 
pectations in regard to Camille, her personal appearance 
and character, are excited by means of the Preparation, 
which is careful and not over elaborate, as elaborate as it is. 
Naturally enough, in the preliminary work and in the 
process of thought in working toward a complete play, 
Unexpected ideas and combinations come to the dramatist. 
It is one of his pleasures and compensations. As the work 



the: unexpected 267 

progresses, and the actual writing of the Dialogue is in 
hand, it narrows down to turns of expression, repartee 
and smaller combinations. But to imagine that everything 
that happens in a play is as Unexpected to the author as 
to the characters and to the audience would be the wildest 
kind of absurdity. For the most part, the Unexpected 
things which happen in the play have happened in the 
mind of the dramatist long before. He is the wizard who 
can tell you the past and the future, and he can do it 
in the right way only if he is a master of his art. We have 
already exposed the absurdity of telling in advance what 
is going to happen, and have urged the necessity of things 
happening as they do in life, Unexpectedly, inasmuch as 
no man can tell the future. A natural tendency of the be- 
ginner is to tell the audience at once all that he has in 
mind; whereas, Facts and ideas and relations have to be 
unfolded gradually and by means of the Action, and there 
are innumerable things belonging to the Conditions Prece- 
dent that cannot be brought into the Action until the prop- 
er time, at a much later period than the opening of the play. 
Thus it is that matters of the past are presented in an 
Unexpected way. Matters of the future can by no possi- 
bility be presented in any other way. They must be Un- 
expected. This Unexpectedness is provided for, beginning 
with the beginning, in the Sequence of the Plot, and this 
Sequence must be a dramatic Sequence which in its nature 
is a progressive development of new things all the time. If 
we take the first scene in "Still Waters Run Deep," we 
see at once that Mildmay is considered of no consequence 
in his own household. It is an admirable scene, devoted 
entirely to establishing the premises. The one fact, it is 
true, remains throughout the scene, but we are constantly 
getting new details of the manner in which he is treated 
and of the conditions which lie at the bottom of this state 
of affairs. We see that the wife is distempered. Unex- 
pectedly, we see that the aunt is encouraging her in her 
state of mind ; Unexpectedly, we see that Potter joins with 



268 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

them in their chorus of nagging; Unexpectedly, we get 
the fact that Mildmay and Emily have been married one 
year; Unexpectedly, that Mrs. Sternhold has appointed a 
dinner party which Unexpectedly interferes with Mild- 
may's invitation to a quiet little dinner with his wife ; Un- 
expectedly, we get one of the causes of the wife's disil- 
lusionment as to Mildmay, for he is domestic and simple 
in his tastes, loving the old songs rather than the classic 
music which she plays, and is prosaic enough to earth up 
the celery. Unexpectedly, we get the little detail of Emi- 
ly's playing for her aunt after she had refused to play for 
her husband. Unexpectedly, we see that Potter, too, is 
under the dominion of Mrs. Sternhold, for he is apologetic 
and self-depreciative and avoids exciting the temper of his 
sister. Unexpectedly, we hear Mrs. Sternhold's astound- 
ing assertion as Mildmay apparently lies asleep, "that he 
has no will of his own, you can do what you will with him 
if you only take the trouble." Unexpectedly, it is devel- 
oped that Emily is not interested in her husband because 
he does not share her feelings, and does not "invest her 
life with something of poetry — of romance." Unexpectedly, 
we see that Mrs. Sternhold is a practical woman of busi- 
ness with her mind on safe investments in three per cents. 
It is expected that Mildmay is going to Manchester that 
night by the mail train. It has no particular significance 
apparently at this moment, but it is of the utmost im- 
portance to the future development of the Action. When 
Emily inquires for her Tennyson it is not Unexpected ex- 
cept as to detail, but it brings out more clearly the senti- 
mentality of Mrs. Mildmay, who now speaks of her with- 
ered heart. The little scene in which this occurs is connec- 
tive, is designed to get her off the stage, and has that 
minor quality of the Unexpected meant for intensive effect 
and for the mechanical purpose of the Action. The scene 
between Mrs. Sternhold and Potter is full of Unexpected 
things; Conditions Precedent, 'emotions of the moment, 
conflicts of character, and facts and developments that 



THE UNEXPECTED 269 

belong to the structure of the play and the development of 
the Action. Unexpectedly important Conditions Precedent 
are brought out. The talk is now about the request that 
Mrs. Sternhold has made that Potter make certain invest- 
ments. Observe that nothing has been said about Hawk- 
sley's schemes to get them to invest up to this point. The 
thirteen speeches between them up to the time of the 
mention of Hawksley's "Galvanic Navigation Company" 
are sustained almost entirely by means of the Unexpected. 
Consider the beginning of this scene with reference to the 
Action, and you will find that the audience's interest in it 
is sustained by the curiosity to know what she wants Pot- 
ter to do, why Potter is reluctant to do it, and whether she 
will succeed in getting him to do it. It is a matter of 
treatment, of Sequence. If she had at once conveyed to 
the audience that the money was to be invested, the atten- 
tion of the audience would not be so closely directed to 
what we pointed out as the true Action of the scene, for 
Potter would have immediately told of his suspicions of 
Hawksley. The facts which Potter states about Emily's 
eight thousand pounds and the discussion over it 
interests us sufficiently for the moment. When 
Hawksley's Company is mentioned we get progress, de- 
velopment, the Unexpected. We have a development of 
facts, conditions and relations up to this point also, and 
these facts and Conditions and Relations are anything but 
passive, anything but mere facts. As small as the details 
are, they are Unexpected. When Mrs. Sternhold urges 
that Emily is Potter's only child, and that all Potter has 
will be hers at his death, it is an active argument, not 
merely a passive fact, and interests us for its bearing on 
the state of mind of these two people. It is not a passive 
fact that is Unexpectedly given in the statement that there 
is a difference of eighteen years between Potter's age 
and Jane's. It is not the mere Unexpectedness of these 
facts that interests us so much as that they stir up the 
Action, they amuse us in their bearings on the moment. 



270 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

We Unexpectedly get the fact that Potter has already in- 
vested one thousand pounds in the shares, and Mrs. Stern- 
hold, for the first time, in an Unexpected way at least, re- 
veals to us what she asked Potter to do before dinner, 
namely, that Potter should take Hawksley's offer for a 
thousand more of the shares, as she had promised Hawk- 
sley that he would. Unexpectedly, we find that Potter 
is a little doubtful about the safety of the investment. 
Unexpectedly, we hear the womanlike argument of Mrs. 
Sternhold that Hawksley is a gentleman. Unexpectedly, we 
hear that Hawksley is to call that evening to arrange the 
business matter. You may weary of this iteration or giv- 
ing of the Unexpected, and may consider it a matter of 
course, but you will discover how wide of the mark you 
are the very moment you attempt to make all or any ma- 
terial part of these Unexpected things Expected. It was 
the author's art alone, his dramatic art, that made these 
things Unexpected; Unexpected in the smallest details, 
and so giving vitality to the Action. Then comes a sur- 
prisingly Unexpected thing. Potter tells of his having 
observed some questionable conduct between Emily and 
Hawksley. In bringing this out, many Unexpected details 
from the Conditions Precedent are involved. Hawksley 
had shown attention to Emily before her marriage, Potter 
fancied she might have married him if Mrs. Sternhold had 
not set her face against it ; and we see from the Conditions 
Precedent that Mrs. Sternhold never thought she liked him 
at all. This is a material point, for it provides an Unex- 
pected tonic to her when she learns exactly what Potter 
has seen. Is there enough of the Unexpected in this to sus- 
tain the Action? or would you have anticipated in this 
scene or before it one of the most startling bits of Unex- 
pectedness in the play, namely, that Mrs. Sternhold her- 
self had been carrying on a very serious flirtation with 
Hawksley! Does not the Action of the play maintain 
itself, and is not the attention of the audience sufficiently 
excited in the little connective scene, scene four, in which 



THE UNEXPECTED 271 

Mrs. Sternhold is alone, and determines to be satisfied 
when she sees Hawksley and Emily come into the house, 
he gathering a rose for her? If it were not for the Unex- 
pected, the potency of which the dramatist thoroughly un- 
derstood, he would not have been satisfied here without 
having Mrs. Sternhold reveal to us that which she does 
only after she witnesses the scene between Emily and 
Hawksley. Nor does that little monologue, scene sixth, 
reveal the extent of her relations with Hawksley, and no 
hint is given of the thirteen letters. If the dramatist had 
revealed prematurely these Unexpected things he might 
still have left a few other Unexpected details, but he would 
not have enough left to make a ragout out of it. I call 
attention to the value of the Unexpected here particularly 
to emphasize the fact that the value of the Unexpected is 
not in mere Unexpectedness. The. Unexpected must be 
managed with reference to the Plot and the development 
of the Action. The Plot, which is made up of a certain 
number of happenings or results, Causes and Effects, is 
compact with the Unexpected. The Plot being further di- 
vided into scenes, each scene has the Unexpected in one 
form or another, and the Action of the scene is full of Un- 
expected details. Thus, we may give the Unexpected 
object or result of the scene between Mrs. Mildmay and 
Hawksley as one thing, that Hawksley has designs against 
her, the proof of which we have, and that Mrs. Sternhold 
hears it. The scene Action is replete with the Unexpected. 
The very manner in which Hawksley is making his cam- 
paign against Emily, attacking her heart on the one side 
which is undefended, namely, her sentimentality, is some- 
thing of a surprise. The way in which he does this, his 
carefully studied fiction of Seville, is Unexpected to us. 
The proposals which he makes are new and startling; the 
means which he has taken have a surprising audacity. That 
a man should have given a watchful mastiff to a woman 
whom he is pursuing, knowing that the mastiff would ad- 
mit him night or day, and the further fact that the uncon- 



272 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

scionable rascal had taken the bolt off the glass door, are 
as Unexpected as anybody could ask for. You most cer- 
tainly are getting your money's worth in Unexpectedness. 
We have had just enough to know that Mrs. Sternhold, 
who is waiting behind the screen overhearing things, has 
had a little of the same kind of cajolery, minus the bolt and 
the mastiff. It does not impair the Unexpectedness of 
what is going to happen to Hawksley when she talks with 
him that we expect a lively interview. In point of fact, 
we get a great deal more than we expect. We know that 
Mrs. Sternhold has a temper of her own, and we expect 
her to sail into Hawksley with beak and talon, but we do 
not expect Hawksley to be quite so cool and resourceful. 
We never dream of these thirteen letters ; we have not had 
an inkling of any of them. The object of the scene be- 
tween Hawksley and Mrs. Sternhold is to checkmate Mrs. 
Sternhold. This was the Unexpected Plot Action involv- 
ing innumerable Unexpected little turns. We rather ex- 
pect that Mrs. Sterhold will interrupt the conversation be- 
tween Emily and Hawksley, but, Unexpectedly, she does 
not. We get the reason why she does not forthwith when 
the two go off, for we learn for the first time that she has 
been in love with Hawksley herself. She would hardly 
want to expose herself to Emily. She is saving it up for 
Hawksley, and we expect good interest in an interview 
that is bound to come. 

While there are a multitude of Unexpected things in the 
Plot of "A New Way to Pay Old Debts," with one coup de 
theatre, that of the razed deed, the play is more remarkable 
for its solidity and its richness of its Material. Massinger 
does not use the Unexpected as a trick but there is some- 
thing new all the time, either heard for the first time, or put 
in a new light under different conditions. We see a drunk- 
en outcast refused "the dropping of the tap for his morn- 
ing's draught," treated with scorn, contumely, by Tapwell 
and Froth, when we are suddenly surprised by the fact 
that this outcast has given them the Inn; that Tapwell 



THE UNEXPECTED 273 

■was born on Wellborn's father's estate. These facts arouse 
our curiosity, and we listen with interest to the details 
as they are unfolded. They are new, because they are par- 
ticularly pertinent and subordinate to the situation. We 
are interested in the detailed account of the career of the 
spendthrift, and every detail is new. The quarrel brings 
out little facts of the past which have a new bearing on the 
present, all contributing to our desire that Wellborn, when 
he gets his stick into play, will not "leave one bone unbro- 
ken." There is a newness throughout the entire scene, for 
the Action of the moment is in constant play. Surely this 
outcast is without friends, else these time servers would 
not have dared to treat him thus. But suddenly and Un- 
expectedly appears Allworth, whose friendly address to- 
him, "Frank!" assures us that he is Wellborn's friend. A 
friend with social position, well dressed, sober, in full pos- 
session of his manhood. Thereupon is developed that upon 
which our curiosity is excited. Who is this young man? 
He has a step-mother, the widow of his father, who mourns 
for him still, who denies herself to suitors. Every detail is 
new, for our whetted curiosity is answered. Unexpectedly, 
it develops that the outcast has been the friend of All- 
worth's father, and he has reason to give him advice. About 
what? You will see that we are anticipating indefinitely 
those things which are on the moment to become definite, 
but new to us, and to gratify our curiosity. Curiosity 
draws us on. Soon our sympathies are to ally themselves 
with our curiosity, and other elements join themselves 
thereto, and we are to surrender to the compelling Action of 
the play. We had heard of Sir Giles Overreach in the 
quarrel between Tapwell and Wellborn, and Unexpectedly, 
we learn that Sir Giles has a daughter, Margaret, and that 
Allworth loves her. Why should Wellborn warn him 
against a union with this fair and blameless creature? We 
have the new fact, that Sir Giles, the base churl, had ruined 
Allworth's father. The victim, then, of Sir Giles reasons 
well, and puts his remonstrance on a firm basis. Allworth 



274 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

is amply able to help Wellborn, and it is surely Unexpected 
when Wellborn refuses his offer to relieve his wants. The 
very reasons that Wellborn gives are Unexpected to us. 
We have seen that Allworth is "a boy," but we had not 
considered that he was so dependent that he lived at the 
uncertain favor of a Lord. It is Unexpected to us that a 
man, accoutered as he is, who has just been thrust out of 
an ale house, and knows not where to eat, or drink, or 
sleep but underneath the canopy of the heavens, should 
have so much spirit as to refuse even that which would 
buy him what would allay his thirst. It is amazing that 
the experience which he has just had has wrought such a 
change in him, aroused the nobility of character in him, 
and, on the instant, made a man of him. The scene closes 
with Wellborn's announcement that as "in his madness he 
broke his state" he will rehabilitate it "without the assist- 
ance of another's brain." How will he do it? We are left 
wholly unsatisfied, and surely when we do see the means 
which he adopts, it will be Unexpected and new to us. 
The closer we examine the operations of the principles, the 
more clearly we see what a strong ally it is of Action. The 
Unexpectedness which we can distinguish so plainly in its 
own function, seems to be the very essence of the Action. 
Still, it is only a part of the Action. See how beautiful a 
principle it is ! See how it involves doubt, hope, expecta- 
tion, curiosity, awakens interest and keeps interest alive. 
It is a lambent spirit that runs throughout the play, and 
suddenly at the appointed time bursts into flame. When 
the Action is true, when the play is a real play, everything 
is bound to be new, because it has never before existed on 
earth. It grows out of the development of the moment. It 
must be Unexpected. Even the development of what may 
be called passive facts, or what seem to be mere conditions 
at the time, are interesting, if the dramatist has the skill 
to make them interesting. The servants whom we see in 
the hall of Lady Allworth's house interest us because we 
know that Lady Allworth is the step-dame of the young 



THE UNEXPECTED 275 

man who had proffered his assistance to Wellborn. No 
doubt Massinger's dramatic instinct was correct in with- 
holding from us the expectation of Wellborn's application 
to Lady Allworth in the visit which he is about to make. 
Up to the point where Lady Allworth Unexpectedly warns 
her step-son against companionship with Wellborn, every- 
thing is introductory to and leads up to these passages, 
which immediately take up the main Action again. The 
scenes themselves are filled with newness in the way of 
facts and the development of the conditions, and perhaps 
the very setting forth of these conditions, the bounty and 
the kindness, the purity, and the reverence for the memory 
of the husband, of Lady Allworth make the warning to her 
step-son all the more surprising. There were technical 
reasons that governed Massinger's treatment of the scenes 
leading up to the point of Unexpectedness, after the Unex- 
pected arrival of Wellborn, by Lady Allworth's Unexpected 
consent to serve him. It will be observed that where there 
are no immediate turns in the main Action, the minor Action 
is made diverting and pays its own way. Of course, there is 
an element of Unexpectedness in finding that Sir Giles has 
provided himself with such a cormorant as Justice Greedy. 
We have our curiosity excited at once as to why the sordid 
old man should keep in his employ a man obsessed with 
such an appetite. The reason why he does so soon appears. 
Justice Greedy has plenty of appetite and no conscience, 
and the manifestations of his greed take many diverting 
forms, in which he is new all the time. In point of fact, as 
to the whole play, it is eternally new, it will never grow 
old ; and no small part of that newness is made up of those 
Unexpected things which make each moment alive. Note 
how Unexpectedly Wellborn enters. There is no announce- 
ment. Wise old Massinger! He might have had Wellborn 
in altercation "without." He might have done many things, 
dear Inexpert. Massinger merely wished him to appear; 
presto, he was there. Goodness! how Unexpectedly those 
wizards like Massinger do things. What a complicated 



276 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Unexpectedness it is that Wellborn should come at the 
very moment that Sir Giles is there. Of course, every 
atom of a play is not Unexpected, but there is never an 
absence of the Unexpected. The Unexpected situation em- 
braces all the details of the situation or scene. We do not 
get over our wonder at the apparition of the outcast in this 
lordly home, where even the attire of the servants puts 
him to shame, before there is a turn in the Action. Per- 
haps we are not surprised at the treatment of Wellborn 
by the servants, or even at Wellborn's disposal of their 
conduct with the simple comment, "this is rare." But here 
is a surprise : Tom Allworth enters, Frank addresses Tom 
Allworth. Note that when they first meet, in the first scene 
of the play, it is Allworth who addresses him as Frank, 
Wellborn does not then address him as Tom, but now he 
does it heartily : "Oh ! here's Tom Allworth, Tom !" All 
this conjecture that the Elizabethan dramatists wrote from 
the outpourings of genius simply is discreditable to any 
man of intelligence. It may be that Massinger in many 
of his plays was not observant of his art, but he was an 
artist. The little point to which we call attention here 
demonstrates his art. It was no accident whereby Mas- 
singer made Wellborn greet Allworth with the familiar 
name. We have been prepared for Allworth's discounte- 
nance of Wellborn, but we are surprised at Allworth's Un- 
expected announcement that they must be strangers, and 
at his sudden exit. The conduct of Tabitha and Abigail is 
not exactly Unexpected, but it gives a certain newness to 
the scene which has a technical use; its object being con- 
nective mainly. Wellborn has been so quiet under the 
taunts of Furnace, Order and Amble, and the finicky re- 
marks of Tabitha and Abigail, after he has been disowned 
by Allworth, we are somewhat surprised at his Unexpected 
outbreak of anger and independence when he will not go 
at the bidding of the servants. Here comes my Lady. Not 
Unexpected, it is true; but it fills us with the expectation 
of Unexpected things. We have seen that our Lady is dead 



THE UNEXPECTED 277 

set against our scapegrace, her whole moral nature is 
against him, what chance has he in an interview with her? 
Will she listen to him at all? Has she not kept herself so 
closely guarded against intrusion since her husband's death 
that she has received no one? She says at the outset that 
she cannot be expected to fall so low as to exchange words 
with him. The persuasiveness and gentleness with which 
Wellborn claims to be heard is in such contrast to his man- 
ner when first we saw him that it is Unexpected. True, we 
have heard before that he was the friend of Lady All- 
worth's husband, but we did not know before that this hus- 
band was once as low in his fortune almost as Wellborn, 
and that Wellborn relieved him, that Wellborn stood by 
him with his sword in all affairs of honor, and that Well- 
born's counsels and help rehabilitated him. We gradually 
lose our belief that she will turn him away, for he has 
already won us over, while Furnace and Order have echoed 
our thoughts and anticipated her Action. Observe that she 
speaks hardly a word, except to admit the truth of what he 
says in a single line, and then to offer him her purse, and 
the full extent of his plan to set himself upright again is 
disclosed to us in Unexpected minuteness. Every detail 
of it is interesting. It is Unexpected that she yields every- 
thing, receiving Wellborn with open favor and charging 
her servants "to throw away a little respect upon him." 
An Unexpected ending to the Act surely; it is indeed a new 
way to pay old debts. 

In the opening of the second act there is a constant new 
development of the character of Sir Giles and his relations 
with Marrall. The Plot also in a preparatory way takes on 
new developments. We learn for the first time of Over- 
reach's definite plans for his daughter. In the scene be- 
tween Wellborn and Marrall, the newness consists mainly 
in the development of the Action. We know how matters 
stand between Wellborn and Lady Allworth, and appreci- 
ate the irreverent skepticism of Marrall in accepting Well- 
born's invitation to dine with him at Lady Allworth's. 



278 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

It is a development which promises a multitude of Unex- 
pected things. The courtesy of the servants to Wellborn 
is not Unexpected, but the situation is novel because of its 
effect on Marrall. Inasmuch as we are in a lively state of 
interest, there is a touch of the Unexpected in all the de- 
tails of the manner in which Wellborn is received. Amaz- 
ing thing! Lady Allworth receives him with a kiss, "this 
first kiss is for form, I allow a second to such a friend." 
We are not surprised that Marrall is completely taken in by 
what he has seen, and that he offers to serve Wellborn, nor 
is it Unexpected that he should tell Sir Giles what he has 
seen, nor is it wholly Unexpected in the circumstances 
that Sir Giles should disbelieve him and should strike "the 
idiot;" but it is all in the nature of the Unexpected, even 
of the impossible when we remember the opening of the 
play. We expect results from these combinations and hap- 
penings, but these expectations are necessarily indefinite, 
so that the future is not wholly discounted. There is some- 
thing beyond any of the certainties of imagination. New 
facts and bits of Action are carried along in the Dialogue, 
keeping the play filled with newness. For instance, Sir 
Giles dismisses Marrall's "feast and Lady" as imaginary, 
and bids Marrall to prepare to receive Lord Lovell who 
dines with him tomorrow. 

With the opening of the third act, we hear for the first 
time Allworth's plans. These are absolutely new. Of 
course, the ground has been laid for the Action, but we 
have merely heard before this time that Allworth was in 
love with Margaret Overreach. Now we learn that Lord 
Lovell is to seek out Margaret and play his part for him. 
Exactly how all this is to be done, the details of the plan, 
we do not learn. We can only expect indefinitely. Per- 
haps the most Unexpected thing so far, although perfectly 
consistent with Sir Giles's nature, is the baseness of his 
instructions to Margaret; "and therefore, when he kisses 
you, kiss close." It is not surprising that this fair creature 
should resent her father's plans for her and suggestions to 



THE UNEXPECTED 279 

her, but Unexpectedness covers the entire scene. The man- 
ner in which Sir Giles is taken in by the diplomacy of Lord 
Lovell is Unexpected. We have not spoken of the Unex- 
pected little turns with which the diverting episodes are 
filled, and in which Greedy entertains us, but it is worth 
while to call attention to a little turn that is absolutely 
Unexpected. It is after we have seen Greedy's preparation 
for the dinner and his own ardent expectation of its de- 
lights, that Marrall enters and makes this announcement : 

" My master, 
Knowing you are his good friend, makes bold with you, 
And does entreat you, more guests being come in 
Than he expected, especially his nephew, 
The table being full too, you would excuse him, 
And wait to sup with him on the cold meat." 
This gastronomic injustice to the squire is a beautiful bit 
of comedy, and owes much of its seasoning to the Unex- 
pectedness of the turn. It is not Unexpected that Sir Giles 
should offer to assist his nephew after he has become con- 
vinced that he is likely to marry Lady Allworth. While 
the Unexpected must exist in abundance, and so far as it 
goes is identical with the Action, yet Action is not wholly 
dependent upon it. This offer to help his nephew is cer- 
tainly relatively Unexpected, it is an Unexpected result, at 
all events. The Action, however, at this point, depends 
largely upon our wondering whether the deception of 
Overreach will hold out. It is an unsettled matter. In 
certain details of this Dialogue between nephew and Uncle 
which closes the act, Unexpected little points are observ- 
able, for instance, Sir Giles offers to redeem for Wellborn "a 
trunk of rich clothes, not far hence in pawn/' Is not that 
a little touch of newness worth the while? Is not Sir Giles 
ordering his carriage for his nephew a detail worth the 
while? Is it not new? 

With the beginning of the fourth act we have some- 
thing entirely new in the coming together of Lord 
Lovell and Lady Allworth. Assuredly, Lady Allworth, 



280 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

who had denied herself to all suitors, the best in the land, 
had given no thought to Lord Lovell before the opening of 
the play. Only the events that have occurred in the three 
preceding acts could make Lord Lovell's suit even possi- 
ble. To have given any hint of a possible marriage be- 
tween the two would not have been rational. The matter 
was reserved for the fourth act and comes into play rather 
Unexpectedly. The Plot now begins to be rapidry devel- 
oped by Unexpected happenings; the ring given to All- 
worth by Sir Giles which enables him to get the license, 
and the means whereby Allworth is given access to the 
presence of Margaret. The second scene of the fourth act 
is Episodic, and the Unexpectedness in it consists largely 
of details. Greedy exercises his authority to carry out the 
just punishment of Tapwell and Froth by Wellborn. The 
close of the fourth act shows Sir Giles effecting his own 
undoing by unknowingly providing for the clandestine 
marriage of his daughter with Allworth. It is full of Un- 
expected details. 

The fifth act is hurried along with Unexpected turns. 
True, we know much that Sir Giles does not know, and 
what has been planned has, we hope, been carried out ; but 
-although we know much, we do not know all; much is 
left in solution, much for expectation, which may be dis- 
appointed, for accident may at any time defeat the purpose 
•of our hopes. This is a real play. The people are living 
"beings. The most Unexpected thing happens in the last 
act, amounting to a coup de theatre. Marrall has had 
no plan to thwart Sir Giles in his schemes against Well- 
born. He himself was a party to the fraudulent deed. The 
deed is in his custody. It is natural enough, after he is 
beaten again by Sir Giles, that he should wish to square 
accounts with him. We do not expect him to raze the 
deed, but when the fact that he has Unexpectedly done so 
is sprung upon us as a coup de theatre, we recognize the 
naturalness of it. It is Unexpected that Sir Giles should 
turn upon Wellborn and demand security for the money he 



THE UNEXPECTED 28 1 

had loaned him recently "upon the mere hope of his great 
match," but he does this Unexpectedly, because he has 
heard rumors, Unexpectedly, of a stolen marriage. He thinks 
they are married. He is ready to act. After the discovery 
of the razed document come the Unexpected appearance 
of Parson Willdo and moments of suspense until it is 
clear to Sir Giles that his daughter is married to Allworth. 
We are intent upon seeing the effect of these combinations 
of circumstances upon him. The Unexpected happens. He 
loses his mind; the Proposition and the Plot are solved 
by the Action, and the expected, in the sense of the hoped 
for has happened. In the happiness of the blameless, and 
the discomfiture of the unworthy, the play ends. 



CHAPTER XXIII. 



PREPARATION. 

Preparation is the arrangement of a condition in an ear- 
lier part of the Action which comes into play in a later part 
of the Action and becomes Unexpectedly effective by means 
of the Reflex Action. 

Sequence and Cause and Effect involve Preparation, a 
principle which is so important that it must be constantly 
in the author's mind. You will find that each scene re- 
counted under the Unexpected is, in its turn, a Preparation 
for a succeeding or later scene. The one between Parthe- 
nia and her mother, in the first act showing that she is in 
love with no one is important with reference to the later 
Action. Can you not believe that in writing it the drama- 
tist realized that he was building, then and there, a se- 
cure foundation for his future Action and that he had to 
dwell upon the facts of her freedom of heart and her idea 
of the purity of love, in order to give full value to the 
scenes in which her awakened love would be operating? 
While he could not reveal his purpose to the audience, he 
wrote with a full appreciation of the bearing of this early 
scene on certain succeeding ones. The audience could not 
by any possibility anticipate the use that was to be made 
later on of Parthenia's state of mind with reference to love. 
It is concealed Preparation. In this case it could not be 
anything else but concealed Preparation. In some cases it 
requires considerable art to conceal the Preparation. Many 
plays fail through too much Preparation. But if there is 
no Preparation at all it is just as bad, for something is 
plumped in that has to be explained — the cart being put 
before the horse. And this Preparation must, like the 
Action, proceed from what happens on the stage, else you 
will be constantly introducing new matter. The inexpert 
author often has several acts of explanation or Preparation 



PREPARATION 283 

before he gets down to the real Action. This kind of Pre- 
paration, without real progressive Action, no doubt pro- 
ceeds from a misunderstanding of the old technical term of 
"Introductory" applied to the first act. While there should 
be something new all the time, it should be something new 
that the Action calls for, something for which there has 
been some kind of Preparation and which is simply a new 
turn in the constant material. Preparation in its general 
meaning is a very significant word, and puts to shame the 
inexpert and hasty writers ; for, does it not suggest care and 
thought? It means that an author considers each scene and 
is careful to weigh the effects. Is such and such a scene or 
incident or fact strong enough or clear enough to have its 
influence on the later scenes and Action? Note all that 
would be called Preparation in the plays in hand. When 
we reach Character and creative work we shall have so 
much to encounter in the way of Preparation that we need 
not dwell on the subject here and now. No expressed 
Preparation is needed for a given Action when that Action 
explains itself. This is seen in what is called the "Coup de 
Theatre," as in some melo-dramatic situation where the res- 
cuing hero comes all at once, when you are not looking 
for him ; even if we have seen him in chains in the previous 
act, we jump to the fact that he has escaped, and the im- 
portant fact of the moment is that, he is at hand, not how 
he escaped — but this illustration is drawn from melo- 
drama. 

Preparation is something that you very frequently dis- 
cern after you have finished reading a play; for, if Prepara- 
tion is too obvious it prevents that Unexpectedness which 
we have already seen to be an essential ; consequently, Pre- 
paration is often absolutely concealed, pains even being 
taken to direct the attention away from any hint of the 
future. This may be seen in the talk between Beauseant 
and Glavis, in "The Lady of Lyons," where Beau- 
seant says, "As we have no noblemen left in 
France, — she can only hope that some English 



284 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Milord or German Count, &c." Bulwer carefully avoids 
suggesting an Italian nobleman. In a way, again, every- 
thing is in the nature of Preparation. Causes prepare for 
effects. At the same time, Preparation is a specific ele- 
ment; otherwise, it would not be in a classification by it- 
self. The first notable and specific instance of Preparation 
unseen by the audience at the time, is where Damas shows 
that he has no sympathy with the social ambitions of his 
cousins. Preparation of this kind is often the most import- 
ant object of a scene, the immediate object being entirely 
distinct. The thinking of some plan to humble Pauline is 
necessarily a Preparation for the scene in which the oppor- 
tunity is presented. The Preparation for the close friend- 
ship of Damas, so necessary in order to take Melnotte to 
the war, and for the last act in which Damas, as a cousin, 
takes him to the house, is carefully worked out. Before 
Melnotte receives the note from Beauseant, Preparation 
had to be made to have him in a state of mind to accede. 
Imagine Damas, at the close of the Fourth Act, without any 
Preparation, expressing his friendship for Melnotte and 
offering to get him a place in the army. Proper Pre- 
paration often requires a scene which otherwise would not 
be called for. Before Melnotte brings Pauline to the cot- 
tage, it was necessary to have the scene with the mother 
alone in order to have us know that she was ignorant of the 
fact that Pauline had not been told of the true rank in 
society of her son. She is not in the scheme and naturally 
addresses Melnotte as her son, and that precipitates the 
discovery. That Beauseant falls upon the idea of using 
Melnotte, known as the "Prince," is prepared for by the 
ambition of Pauline to marry rank. The flowers that we 
see in the first scene afford Preparation also. They have 
no immediate disclosed relation with Melnotte whatever. 

Preparation exists in all parts of a play, for it is in- 
volved in the Construction, the Plot, Sequence, Cause and 
Effect and other principles. We are to point out that which 
is distinctly Preparation in "Camille" and essay to arrive 



PREPARATION 285 

at the author's reason for the exercise of this distinct 
method. In writing, one often finds that sufficient Prepara- 
tion has not been made, and he is forced perhaps to intro- 
duce a scene to effect the purpose. The first distinct scene 
of Preparation in "Camille" is the second one, which in- 
troduces Nichette. Her pure relations with Gustave and 
her marriage to him are to serve for a contrast to Camille's 
hapless life. This background of happy virtue is most im- 
portant and is to play a considerable part in the Action. 
Nichette is a working girl and comes for a bundle left for 
her by Camille. She has formerly worked with Camille, 
and her very name is a pet one given to her by Camille. The 
essential Facts are conveyed. The immediate purpose of 
the scene is a technical one to lead up to the Dialogue in 
the next scene. The story of Camille's life is naturally in- 
troduced, the facts serving as Preparation. This Prepara- 
tion enables future passages to be Self-Explanatory. Later 
on a word or two from Camille to Armand disposes of her 
relations with de Meuriac. In the Dialogue leading up to 
Camille's history there is Preparation, for Varville wonders 
how Camille can endure de Meuriac's tedious visits; Nan- 
ine explains. Camille's entrance, ordering supper is Prepa- 
ration. It is obvious Preparation, requiring no dramatic 
finesse. It- is a matter of course. Camille's cough, as Var- 
ville runs to her, is distinctly a touch of Preparation. Its 
primary purpose is that alone, but Camille's reply is dis- 
tinctly of the Action of the moment: "Nothing, I will be 
better — when you are gone." It would have been false 
Preparation if the Characters before this scene had shown 
solicitude about her health ; this touch would have been 
impaired. Nor is it obvious Preparation. It is the author's 
Preparation, a mere hint. There are little bits of matter- 
of-course Preparation, in the nature of Sequence, until we 
get to Armand's account of his family and his loving men- 
tion of his sister; the effect of it upon Camille soon ap- 
pears, and, in the Third Act, is to determine her in her 
sacrifice. That Armand has loved her madly in silence for 



286 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

two years is Preparation. His silence during the gayety 
of the supper is Preparation. The very gayety of the sup- 
per is Preparation for Armand's saying to Camille : 
"You are killing yourself. I would that I had the 
right to save you from yourself." It is a note of Prepara- 
tion when Varville tells of having been watched by "that 
odd-looking sort of person" as he ascended the steps; and 
further Preparation is made for Armand's return by what 
Prudence says in a scene or two later. It would be false 
or bad Preparation if w'e were sure that he would come 
back, but Dumas had it that Camille is about to go out 
with Varville. After some hesitation she dismisses Var- 
ville, whereupon Armand enters. If Varville had gone 
away of his own volition, if there had been no difficulties 
in the way of Armand's return, and he had appeared imme- 
diately upon Prudence's announcement, it would have been 
in the nature of Story rather than Action. Besides, what 
Prudence says pictures to us the state of his mind. Without 
her words his return would have been somewhat absurd. 
This Preparation coincides with Action. The scene between 
Camille, Nichette and Gustave is really Preparation for the 
dashing of Camille's every hope in the interview which 
follows with Armand's father. The appearance of Duval is 
an instance of where it is not necessary to make any Pre- 
paration whatever except what lies in the Self-Explanatory 
nature of the case. The slightest word of Preparation 
would have destroyed the effect. Instead of any immediate 
Preparation, the author, on the contrary, has Camille be- 
lieve it is the agent who comes. With reference to this 
scene all that Camille has said in her talks with Armand 
was Preparation, for the father uses the very arguments 
which she herself has used with her infatuated lover whom 
now she loves with an abandonment that makes it almost 
impossible to endure this argument. The Preparation in 
the Fourth Act is more in the nature of Cause and Effect, 
(the one immediately following the other, Action proper), 
than the Preparation which we call distinctly Preparation. 



PREPARATION 287 

Special Preparation usually concerns results or effects not 
immediately at hand. In the Fifth Act the Characters have 
been carefully Prepared, in their scenes, in the previous 
acts, to give effect to the passive and pathetic Action of 
the closing Acts. Without this careful Preparation the Act 
would be impossible. The Characters could not develop 
their, traits for the first time. The Preparation for Arm- 
and's return is contained in the letter from Armand's father 
which Camille has received six weeks before. Observe that 
this information is withheld from the audience up to a cer- 
tain point, and that doubt is still left in her mind if he will 
see her again ; but a sufficient Preparation is the subtle one 
provided by the author in our belief that he will return. 
In making distinct principles of the elements of a play, 
we must bear in mind always that one principle involves 
another. Preparation, for example, is identical in many 
points and aspects with Sequence and Cause and Effect. 
And yet what would be the use in defining a principle if 
it were only another name for another principle? Would 
it not be a multiplication of means to an end if each Princi- 
ple were not delimited and did not have functions peculiarly 
its own? Sequence and Cause and Effect could be observed 
if in the very first scene in "Still Waters Run 
Deep" we saw that Mrs. Mildmay had fallen under 
the influence of Hawksley by reason of her roman- 
ticism and the prosaic character of her husband. But 
the dramatist has wisely not even permitted us to see the 
romanticism of Mrs. Mildmay in this scene, so far as any 
expression to him is concerned. He does not show that 
the woman considers him prosaic, without a soul for music, 
in fact, "no soul for anything!" There we have it, prose 
first, romance next. We are thus prepared for the second 
scene in which we see that the wife reads Tennyson, "ri- 
diculous poetry," for "the comfort it brings to her with- 
ered heart." That is true Preparation, husbanding effects 
and ideas. An instance of Preparation which has no imme- 
diate relation to the Plot, is that Mrs. Sternhold has issued 



288 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

invitations to dinner tomorrow. The fact is given as a rea- 
son why Emily cannot have the quiet little dinner with 
her husband at Richmond on the anniversary of the wed- 
ding. If the dinner of the third act were plumped in when 
occasion arose for it later on it would be very lame and 
obviously mechanical. This is Preparation which has noth- 
ing whatever to do with the immediate Cause and Effect as 
to the Plot. But observe that it does serve an immediate 
purpose. It is shown in the first scene that Mrs. Sternhold 
is in authority in the house. The value of incidental Prepa- 
ration, but specific as Preparation, is to be noted in the 
talk between Potter and Mrs. Sternhold, in which Potter 
expresses his doubts as to the attentions of Hawksley to 
Emily. The immediate object of the scene is to arouse 
the jealousy of the aunt and have her overhear the inter- 
view between Hawksley and Emily. 

What Potter says as to the acquaintance of the 
two before the marriage of Emily with Mildmay 
has a softening effect on the scene in which Hawks- 
ley makes his impudent proposal. If we did not 
know that they were old acquaintances, that he 
sought to marry her at one time, the scene would be so 
abrupt and vulgar that it would be intolerable. Emily is 
romantic, so we are prepared for Hawksley's mode of at- 
tack "Oh, were this but Seville ! Sweet Seville !" The very 
moment Hawksley makes his base proposal we know that 
he is a scoundrel; that is preparation enough for the facts 
that he has removed the bolt of the glass door and that he 
has stolen the key to the garden gate. It falls into the self- 
explanatory. No preparation was needed for the fact 
that the mastiff was a present from Hawksley. There had 
been no need to make the fact known before this point that 
Mrs. Sternhold had lost the key. Why not? Because the 
important fact is that Hawksley has it, and the loss by Mrs. 
Sternhold is a mere detail. It is a fact of the moment, a 
thing of the Action, not continuous in bearing, requiring 
no treatment before or after the fact. The law takes no 



PREPARATION 289 

account of fractions of a day; the drama does not halt at 
material immaterial things, fractions. It is important to 
understand Preparation as a distinct principle, with func- 
tions of its own, else it may be confounded with the func- 
tions of Cause and Effect. The Preparation involved in 
the Action or the Plot is of a tangible sort; from this comes 
that, by reason of this that happens, &c. But Preparation, 
in its distinct function, is usually intangible, concealed 
Preparation. The inexperienced writer might easily have 
destroyed the Unexpected in the scene between Hawksley 
and Mrs. Sternhold by bringing out the fact of the exist- 
ence of the thirteen compromising letters too soon, "pre- 
paring" for them. Her jealousy, her reproaches, their inti- 
macy, his rascality, her folly, her sentimentality, that of a 
woman of a certain age who loves in spite of her judgment, 
all suffice to make us accept the fact without any formal 
Preparation. If we knew nothing about these compromis- 
ing letters until Mildmay confronted Hawksley in his room, 
the fact would be plumped in; we would feel the lack of 
Preparation. As it is, it is a part of our interest whether 
he will secure the letters or not. We know that to secure 
them is one of the objects of his visit. The story of the 
forged bill is without Preparation as to the facts, but we 
have become so thoroughly convinced of the rascality of 
Hawksley that we are prepared to believe anything about 
him, and we know that Mildmay has been pursuing inves- 
tigations. The method of arriving at this scene is unusual. 
It is seldom that Story can be used so effectively. It is 
made possible in being reduced down to one material fact, 
the forged bill and Mildmay's possession of it. The details 
did not have to be proved. Nothing in the Plot or the Ac- 
tion turns upon the proof of the details. We are prepared 
for any charge against Hawksley, and we know that Mild- 
may has definite proof of some sort. There is no Prepara- 
tion for the statement that Hawksley can snuff a candle 
at twenty paces with a pistol, but the accomplishment pro- 
19 



29O ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

bably belonged to the character of the period of this play. 
If Hawksley's deadly aim were the material thing at this 
point Preparation would have been required. Perhaps Pre- 
paration in detail was inexpedient in parts of the structure 
of this play, consequently there is much use made of Story ; 
whereas proper Preparation is the most potent means of 
obviating Story. 

If we attempted to give all the Sequences and every bit 
of Cause and Effect as Preparation we would get a con- 
fused idea of the principle. Preparation is involved in and 
provided for in many of the elements of a play, but those 
elements do not always coincide. In "A New Way 
to Pay Old Debts," Wellborn is turned away and 
humiliated by Tapwell and Froth in the first scene, 
and in the second scene of the fourth act, an Episode, he 
metes out punishment to them, but this Episode is too in- 
cidental as to Tapwell and Froth to require the first scene 
to have for its principal object Preparation for the scene 
of punishment. The Episode has something more import- 
ant to attend to than the punishment of the Innkeeper and 
while it makes Objective the fact that Overreach has sup- 
plied Wellborn with money the Episode serves distinctly 
for Plot. We could hardly define Sir Giles's furnishing 
Wellborn with money to discharge his debts as Preparation 
for the Episode either. So many things contribute to it 
and are ready for it when it can be introduced that no spe- 
cific Preparation was needed. Both Marrall and Justice 
Greedy have been won over by Wellborn, and incidentally 
this fact, with many other circumstances, works for the 
Episode, but the Episode is a by-product. We are en- 
tirely prepared for Greedy's ready acquiescence in Well- 
born's suggestion to forget the "couple of fat turkeys" pro- 
mised every Christmas by Tapwell in favor of the venison 
that he will send him every season, enough to feast a mayor 
and corporation. But it is all too indirect and incidental 
to be called specific Preparation. The character of Greedy 
has been developed for other purposes and not for this 



PREPARATION 29I 

scene. The necessity for specific Preparation often pre- 
sents itself to a dramatist after he has practically or appa- 
rently completed his Plot or play. It would be difficult to 
find an easier or more natural Episode than this! In the 
Dialogue between Tapwell and Froth note that she says 
that Wellborn "knows all the passages of our house ; as the 
receiving of stolen goods, and so forth." This is the first 
we have heard of it. If it had been made known in the 
opening scene of the play as a bit of Preparation for the 
Episode, it would have thrown everything into dispropor- 
tion. Here it is in the right place and acts as Preparation, 
in a certain degree, for it makes Wellborn's treatment of 
them justice and not revenge. Massinger, in his first draft, 
might have begun the Episode without this introduction, 
having the characters on the stage, as now, Tapwell pre- 
senting his petition. Suppose Massinger had incorporated 
the idea of Tapwell's being a fence in the Episode proper, 
and have had Wellborn say that he knew "all the passages 
of the house, as the receiving of stolen goods, and so forth," 
then it would have been plumped in and would otherwise 
have taken away from the simplicity of the scene. The 
Facts are immediately Self-explanatory and doubly forceful 
although mentioned now for the first time. Certain things 
are spoken of as having happened which need not have 
been by way of Preparation. For instance, Tapwell says 
that Wellborn has Greedy at his command because he has 
fed him. We needed no previous account of the various 
creditors in order to understand the details which are un- 
folded. To have given it would have been over-prepara- 
tion. The treatment of Wellborn by the servants and the 
maids was a necessary Preparation, by way of contrast, for 
the scene in which their demeanor is the exact opposite. 
Massinger had the latter scenes in mind when he wrote 
the first ones. There is a very careful Preparation for solv- 
ing the relations between Lord Lovell and Lady Allworth. 
Long before the two have occasion to come to an under- 



292 ANALYSIS 01? DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

standing, we see that explanations between them will be 
brief. This Preparation begins before there is any issue 
joined as to them. It enters into the Plot later on. The 
Preparation for Marrall's betrayal and desertion of Sir 
Giles is Plot Preparation largely. In working out the 
scenes of wrath and beating, Massinger had constantly in 
mind that he was making the Cause strong enough to cor- 
respond with the Effect. There is a good deal of Prepara- 
tion in this play by previous description and giving of 
Facts, something that often leads to over-preparation, but 
Massinger is so skillful that he gives the facts and descrip- 
tions necessarily and incidentally. Thus, Wellborn de- 
scribes Overreach's designs for his daughter in the first 
scene with Allworth. But its force, at that moment, is to 
complete the relentless character of the man who has 
wrought the ruin of Wellborn. There is no hint of Plot in 
it. Had we, later on, suddenly got our first intimation or 
statement or showing of this side of the character of Sir 
Giles it would have been plumped in. Or if it had been 
revealed to us in the first scene of the play that Sir Giles 
intended to offer the hand of his daughter to Lord Lovell it 
would have been over-preparation and the affairs of All- 
worth would have had undue prominence. To have inti- 
mated that Marrall was already tired of the ill-treatment 
of his master was wholly unnecessary. Consequently, Mas- 
singer first showed him as the willing and eager tool, per- 
mitting us to see the character and its relations to the Ac- 
tion develop under our own eyes. When we hear the com- 
plainings of the cook we understand the circumstances. 
The opening scene of the servants was evidently designed, 
for the greater part, as Preparation for "The thin gutted 
squire that's stolen into commission." Omit the cook from 
the scene and there would be no scene. Some students, in 
analyzing this play, fancy that they see traces of insanity in 
Sir Giles in the course of the Action which makes the Pre- 
paration for his final madness. His uncontrollable temper 



PREPARATION 293 

may be a kind of insanity, but the defeat of all his hopes, 
might well have brought on an access of madness without 
any previous lesion of the brain or imperfection of reason. 
It is not likely that Massinger intended to represent him 
with the seeds of madness in him in any other sense than 
that abnormal passion implies madness. 



CHAPTER XXIV. 



ACTION (DRAMA) MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, 
SELF-DEVELOPING AND SELF-PROGRESSIVE. 

The principles and methods already explained and which 
have concerned the actual structure of a play provide large- 
ly for the qualities of the Self-explanatory, the Self-develop- 
ing and the Self-progressive. One principle involves an- 
other principle, sometimes very closely, but an art must be 
precise and must make distinctions in order to secure a safe 
point of view in every emergency. The very term Self-Ex- 
planatory explains itself, but if we are to exercise a self- 
reliant Technique we must know why a Self-Explanatory 
dramatic thing is Self-Explanatory. It is made so and does 
not merely happen so. If we at once understand why a 
character does a certain thing, it is because we understand 
the present conditions and what has led up to them. That 
a thing is Self-Explanatory is one of the first qualities of 
Action, almost a definition. If we have seen in a preceding 
scene that one character has insulted, let us say, the sister 
of another, we understand his state of mind when he meets 
that other. If we see a cause we understand the effect. 
Should a blow be struck it is at once Self-Explanatory, Self- 
developing and Self-progressive. One thing grows out of 
another or makes it clear. "Ingomar" has this Sequence of 
happenings in perfect clarity. Are we not assured of the 
ideality and purity of Parthenia from her talk with her 
mother? Has she to protest or explain her innocence when 
confronted with the passion of Ingomar and is in his 
power? We have usually seen in the Action of a play what 
explains the conduct of a character, and it does not make it 
less Self-explanatory when, for example, Uncle Nat, in the 
lighthouse scene, in "Shore Acres," tells Martin, his broth- 
er, for the first time that he loved Martin's wife before Mar- 
tin married her. How can. a play be Self-developing unless 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 2Q5 

we see it develop before our eyes? Cause and Effect and 
motives constantly' accumulating as the Action progresses, 
are the marks of the dramatic. You will observe that, in 
a correctly written play, there is no occasion to explain 
after something has happened, provided the Action had 
been sufficiently Self-explanatory for the moment. One 
does not have to give every Detail in order to make a thing 
sufficiently Self-explanatory. The dramatist must know 
what to withhold. What may seem to be explanations are 
made in the course of the Action, but, by reason of the ex- 
planation, the Action becomes Self-progressive. Action is 
itself Self-progressive, for it is a part of a complete Action. 
It is like the expansion of a drop of water into steam that 
'creates the motive power. 

It is Self-explanatory why Parthenia rejects Poly- 
dor after the discussion between them, because of 
his avarice, meanness, and wholly unsympathetic na- 
ture, which develop as they talk, and it is Self- 
progressive because it brings about a constant change of 
affairs: She started to accept him, and rejects him. It is 
Self-explanatory when he refuses, later on, to help to ran- 
som her father, for he has expressed his wish for revenge, 
and his opportunity has come. It is Self-developing, Self- 
explanatory and Self-progressive. The obverse side of this 
you will see in your own first plays, when you will have to 
ask yourself: Is this Self-explanatory, Self-developing and 
Self-progressive. Whenever you make the characters talk 
for the information of the audience and not because of the 
necessity of so talking between themselves, it is you, the 
author, who is explaining or feeling or talking, and con- 
sequently the Action is not Self-developing. Any one who 
succeeds with an anecdote, knowing the art of telling one, 
will have the point, at the climax, Self-explanatory. As 
simple as all this seems, from our study and analysis of well 
constructed plays, you will find that it is one of the most 
frequent problems to solve when writing a play. 

In a play from a novel by a well known American au- 



296 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

thor produced several years ago, at the rise of the curtain a 
young man from R. and a young woman from L. rushed 
into each other's arms and embraced rapturously; it was 
not Self-explanatory; were they brother and sister? Lov- 
ers ? The audience did not know the relationship and broke 
into a roar of laughter; like Ananias the author had kept 
back too much. 

You can see that everything in "The Lady of Lyons" is 
Self-explanatory and Self-developing. If it were not 
the play would not be walking on its own legs. It 
would not be alive. If a thing were done in the wrong 
place, in the wrong Sequence, it would not be Self-explan- 
atory ; if you saw an Effect without having seen the Cause, 
it would not be Self-explanatory, although it might be all 
right in another form of literature, the novel, for example. 
The author could explain as he went along. The drama 
is the thing itself, it must explain itself, the author has no 
part in it so far as the actual performance is concerned. 
The play begins to be Self-explanatory with the first step 
you take in the structure. The Proposition and the Plot 
are Self-explanatory. How unintelligible at times or how 
dreadful a bore a play would be if the characters had to stop 
and explain things. When Damas takes a fancy to Melnotte 
after fighting the duel with him, we understand why, not 
only from what he says as to liking a man after fighting 
with him, but because we know his bluff character and 
democracy. When the time comes it is entirely clear why 
Damas offers to have Melnotte serve in his regiment. That 
Melnotte can rise to rank in the army is Self-explanatory 
from the career of Damas himself. It does not depend 
upon any explanation from him. Melnotte explains his mo- 
tives to Pauline more than once, but not for the mere pur- 
pose of explaining, only for new results and purposes. The 
very reason for the explanation is Self-explanatory. Beause- 
ant does not have to explain to the audience why he comes 
to see Pauline at the cottage. We know that he had not 
given up hope, and that it was indeed a part of his plan 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 297 

to humble her and to gain her. His discussion of the situa- 
tion with her is not for the sake of explanation. If it had 
required a monologue from him to tell the audience why- 
he had come, there would have been something wrong in 
the arrangement of the piece, his monologue would 
have been explanation and the Self-explanatory would 
have been lacking. If Damas, in the opening of the last 
act, had advanced to the footlights and explained in a mo- 
nologue that he and Melnotte were back from the wars, 
Melnotte now known as Morier, &c, &c, it would not have 
been Self-explanatory, because nothing in the Action forces 
him to a monologue. Why does not Melnotte reveal him- 
self at once? It is Self-explanatory. It is all cared for by 
structure and the other principles. One thing being wrong 
in a play, other things will be wrong, but here we have 
skilled work. 

The Self-explanatory comes from technical management. 
The inexperienced writer yielding to Story, Words, bad 
Sequence and lack of Preparation, will too often fail to 
make what takes place explain itself. It is Self-explana- 
tory that Varville is waiting for Camille. That is all that 
the immediate situation requires. The inexpert writer 
would be inclined to explain the whole. That it is not 
Camille who rings the bell is Self-explanatory by what 
Nanine says as to the time of her return, and it is Self- 
explanatory why they are not interrupted by the Entrance 
of Camille during the two scenes preceding her return. It 
is Self-explanatory why Nichette calls ; a bundle is left for 
her. It is Self-explanatory why she does not wait for Ca- 
mille, for Gustave is at the door. It is Self-Explanatory 
why she is fond of Camille, and why Camille is fond of her ; 
they had worked together in the same shop. Camille's pet 
name of Nichette indicates the degree of intimacy. All 
these points are brought out by the necessity of the occa- 
sion, and nothing is told directly or without Cause. In 
other words, it all tells itself, and in that case it is Self- 
explanatory. That Camille is indifferent to Varville is 



298 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Self-explanatory in her conduct toward him and in her 
conversation with him. It is true that Nanine has told 
Varville that Camille does not love him the least bit in 
the world, but that does not render it the less necessary 
for Camille to show the fact by her conduct toward him* 
It is her conduct that is Self-explanatory. We see that 
Olimpe has not been to see Camille recently. That is 
brought out in the conversation between them. When Ca- 
mille goes to the window and calls for Prudence it is Self- 
explanatory that she is a neighbor. It is not superfluous that 
Camille in answer to Olimpe explains that Prudence lives 
just opposite. It is all Self-explanatory because every- 
thing that is said and done is in demand by the immediate 
pressure of the moment and thus Self-Acting. If Nanine, 
in that possible scene at the beginning of the play had told 
all about Prudence being a neighbor, then this incidental 
going to the window and of explaining to Olimpe would 
have been robbed of the better part of the quality of the 
Self-explanatory. There would have been repetition and 
an absence of the Unexpected. In other words, it would 
have been too Self-explanatory. It is Self-explanatory 
that Camille lightly passes off Prudence's remark that 
Armand loves her to madness. She does not take it se- 
riously, and we know why. We have seen that she does 
not love Varville, and we know from her history that 
she cares for no one. She attaches no importance to the 
sincerity of anybody's love. When Camille orders Varville 
to cease that noise on the piano, it is Self-explanatory, for 
we have seen her impatience with him in previous scenes. 
If Armand had joined in the revelry and had taken part 
in the frivolous talk at the table, his interest in Camille 
in the interview after the others had gone out would not 
be Self-explanatory. It is the Preparation for it that makes 
it so. Without the frivolous character of her companions 
having been seen, it would not be Self-explanatory when 
Camille says that "There is a new found meaning in these 
simple words" of Armand. Camille's agitation in the sec- 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 299 

ond act, and her conflict of emotion with reference to Arm- 
and have their basis in the previous act, and what she 
now does explains itself. The strongest example of the 
Self-explanatory is the Entrance of Duval. Here is a case 
in which there has been no obvious Preparation at all. 
Camille does not expect him, and is ignorant of his coming, 
and yet the very moment he enters the audience knows 
why he comes. There is not a word of immediate expla- 
nation from him. The argument between them is based 
on Facts and emotions which have been presented in pre- 
vious scenes. The new fact is introduced that Armand's 
sister is about to marry, and that the family of the man 
who seeks her will not consent to the marriage unless 
Camille gives up Armand. The very statement of these 
facts is Self-explanatory. We need no details about the 
family of the young man who will marry Armand's sister 
under conditions. The facts are ample and absolutely defi- 
nite and Self-explanatory. There was absolutely no Pre- 
paration needed for the announcement of the intended mar- 
riage any more than there was for the coming of Armand's 
father. There is marked dramatic economy in all this. 
After the interview to the close of the act, everything that 
is done explains itself. There is no Story to be told in the 
fourth act, and the Action being Self-developing and Self- 
progressive, it is by the nature of the Action itself, Self- 
explanatory. Whenever each moment provides the reason 
for each Action, then we have the principle in its purest 
elemental form. When Camille falteringly says that she 
loves Varville it is Self-explanatory, for there is no ex- 
pression from her of the reason why she tells this false- 
hood; we know why. The very utterance of her renuncia- 
tion of Armand has back of it the reason known to us and 
not to Armand. It would be inconceivable perhaps to im- 
agine this interview between Armand and Camille taking 
place without the interview between Camille and Armand's 
father having been seen. But, for the sake of illustration, 
you will imagine a scene in which Camille should explain 



300 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

to Armand why she renounces him, the scene between her 
and the father having taken place off stage. This will seem 
almost impossible, but instances of the kind could be found 
in inexpert plays. If much of the last act were not Self- 
explanatory it would be slow in movement and unintelli- 
gible. But it is Self-explanatory from the rise of the cur- 
tain. We know at once that she is without resources, and 
has been abandoned by Varville and just as certainly by 
Armand. The devotion of the two friends that remain to 
her after her wealth is gone is Self-explanatory. Arm- 
and's return is Self-explanatory because it is prepared for 
by the letter which Camille reads from the father. It 
would not be Self-explanatory if Armand on his return 
explained these things which we now know but which 
an unskilled dramatist might have left to him. It would 
have been the very same Story, the facts would have re- 
mained the same. Why then could not Dumas have re- 
served to Armand the telling of that? Simply because in 
the tense moments of the Action there is no time for ex- 
planation. It must be got out of the way. Armand does 
not waste one word in telling her of his misunderstanding 
or about his father's letter to him. If a play were a condi- 
tion of affairs and not an Action wherein the most vital 
thing is the present moment, Armand could dwell upon 
the many unhappy combinations of circumstances which 
have thrown them apart, and which have now brought 
them together. Indeed, if an author, (he could hardly be 
called a dramatist) wanted to dwell on sentiment and de- 
tail and explanation, he could easily do so in this scene, but 
to its utter destruction as to the vital thing of the moment. 
The very term Self-explanatory implies that the Action 
as it develops before us is intelligible to the extent required 
at the moment. Every fact and all the relations of the peo- 
ple cannot be conveyed at one and the same moment, con- 
sequently, the Self-explanatory is provided for and pre- 
pared for in many different ways. Thus, before we come 
to the scene itself we have developed the Proposition into a 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 3OI 

Plot, and the Plot into Acts and scenes ; and if this is prop- 
erly done, much becomes Self-explanatory, while much is 
left to the details of the scenes to make what happens and 
is said in them Self-explanatory at the moment. A scene 
becomes a microcosm of a play ; Sequence, Proposition and 
Plot within the scene repeat the same process used in get- 
the means of producing the Self-explanatory, the most pri- 
4 h e me a n c o f pr o du c ing t h e- Se lf Ex p lan ato ry, the most pr is 
mitive are those of Scenery and Costume and Objectivity. 
When the curtain rises on the drawing room of Mildmay's 
villa, we see that the group of four people indicate a 
family. We see their social position. Certain general facts 
are conveyed in a Self-explanatory way. It is a kind of 
Action that is thus afforded by the inanimate things and 
the tableau, for the mind of the audience begins to operate. 
The picture itself does not suggest the exact relations be- 
tween the people. It would be impossible almost to con- 
vey all these facts except by way of development. We are 
attendant upon the Action in order to discover exactly what 
are the relations of these people. It has been sufficiently 
Self-explanatory up to the time that Mrs. Mildmay ad- 
dresses her aunt as "Aunt," "only conceive of him asking 
for a stupid melody like that." We next get the relation 
between Mildmay and Emily, for he says, "you used to 
like playing to me before we were married." It is a minute 
or two, or a considerable space, after this before we learn 
that Mrs. Sternhold is Potter's sister. It was not abso- 
lutely essential up to this point to define Potter, for atten- 
tion had to be centered on the attitude of Mildmay's wife 
and her Aunt toward Mildmay, and these relations all come 
out in a Self-explanatory way. These characters are en- 
gaged in a conversation about affairs of their own, and are 
in no wise concerned with the audience. All that they say 
is perfectly natural and required by their discussion. Mrs. 
Sternhold's first speech shows that Mildmay gives little 
attention to the music of his wife, and has the habit of 
silently snoring through it. We see at once that husband 



302 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

and wife are at odds ; that even Potter, the fourth member 
of the household, thinks that Mildmay has no soul for any- 
thing. Mrs. Sternhold replies to Mildmay's suggestion to 
Emily that they have a quiet little dinner at Richmond to- 
morrow, that she cannot allow Emily to go, and that she 
has issued invitations for a dinner here. It is Self-ex- 
planatory that she has the upper hand in the house. This 
is immediately confirmed by Emily's assenting to the dicta- 
tion of her Aunt, although the previous speech has made 
us acquainted with the fact that tomorrow comes the anni- 
versary of the wedding day of Emily and Mildmay. We 
have had a reason why for everything in the progress of 
this conversation. It was Self-explanatory that Mildmay 
would like to have a tete-a-tete with his wife, free from the 
control and presence of her Aunt. A further Self-explan- 
atory reason follows in his speech that he wanted it because 
it was their wedding anniversary. The first offer was Self- 
explanatory enough at the time, and the additional reason 
is new and convincing. It is Self-explanatory that Mild- 
may rises and says he had as well go and earth up his 
celery, because he has made two requests and urged them 
in several speeches, and has in that way exhausted his 
efforts at conciliation that evening. That Emily and Mrs. 
Sternhold are perverse is Self-explanatory, because they 
think Mildmay is stupid, and we see one reason why they 
think he is stupid in that he wishes to engage in the prosaic 
occupation of earthing up his celery. At the same time, it 
is perfectly Self-explanatory that he is willing to do any- 
thing to please the women, at least Emily, for he offers 
to remain if she only says so. In short, the scene is a per- 
fect glimpse into the life which they have been latterly 
leading. It will be observed that Mildmay never replies 
harshly to Emily, but that he is inclined to quietly resent 
the interpositions of the Aunt. It is plain that he can do 
nothing more, so he settles himself comfortably on the 
sofa. The author is holding the note here for a while for 
the technical purpose of allowing Mildmay to fall asleep, 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 303 

but, in doing so, he does not fail to make his points, for 
when Mrs. Sternhold asks Emily to give her a little music, 
Emily replies, "with pleasure, what shall I play you?" Mrs. 
Sternhold, "anything you like." Note that a number of lit- 
tle facts are repeated, but always in some new relation. 
Thus we find that Potter is promptly snubbed on the same 
ground that Mildmay had once before been nagged at 
about, namely, that he always falls asleep after dinner. 
Mildmay is now apparently asleep. The most pointed ac- 
cusation as to Mildmay's stupidity comes up in the Dia- 
logue between the two women after the two men are 
apparently in a doze. We have some of the reasons why 
Emily is dissatisfied with her husband, and in this talk 
with Mrs. Sternhold she conveys to us an additional reason 
that makes her conduct Self-explanatory, namely, her ro- 
mance, and in Mrs. Sternhold's reply to her we get a 
glimpse of a money-loving woman. All this has been Self- 
explanatory, sufficient for the moment, and, immediately 
thereafter, and later on we get new facts and confirmation 
for what has been partly but sufficiently Self-explanatory. 
The whole scene has moved forward by the forces within 
itself. It has not had the aid of anything outside of it and 
belonging to the Plot proper. It has been Self-explanatory 
from beginning to end. It has been without a Monologue 
or an Aside. It is a perfect example of the Self-explana- 
tory, the Self-developing and the Self-progressive. It would 
not be improper to divide this material into three scenes, 
considering the incident of the little interchange of talk be- 
tween Mrs. Sternhold and Potter and then between Emily 
and Mrs. Sternhold as the second scene, and the incident 
of Emily's knotting her handkerchief and bringing it down 
on Mildmay's face, up to Mildmay's Exit the third scene ; 
but it will be observed that it is all practically one scene, 
for it carries out the one object of showing that Mildmay 
is held in no esteem in his own household. Indeed, this 
fact has been sufficiently established in what we might call 
the first scene up to the time that both Mildmay and Potter 



304 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

fall asleep. But the author had other things in his mind. 
He had not the slightest intention of permitting the audi- 
ence to see what use he was going to make of Mrs. Stern- 
hold's significant observations on Mildmay. He kept the 
attention fixed upon one object of the scene, namely, the 
loss of all authority by Mildmay in the household. The 
two or three speeches between Emily and Mrs. Sternhold 
are a continuation of the main object of the one scene. We 
are getting, however, something new all the time, or a con- 
firmation of what we already know with new aspects. In 
the second incident, where Mildmay announces that he is 
going to Manchester that night, the author had not the 
slightest intention of conveying to the audience Mildmay's 
object in making the trip, but it is Self-explanatory to the 
degree required. The only comment that is made on it is 
Emily's remark that "you never said a word about it until 
now." Mildmay replies, "why should I?" These two inci- 
dents do not advance the Action except as they confirm the 
state of affairs between man and wife. The two scenes, as 
we may call them, are scenes of Preparation. That Mild- 
may is going to Manchester is not Self-explanatory as to 
the object, but it is Self-explanatory in that he has said 
nothing to his wife about it before. It cannot be Self-ex- 
planatory that he is going to Manchester to look into the 
history of Hawksley, because the name of Hawksley has 
not been mentioned up to this point. It is mentioned only 
after Mildmay makes his Exit. The scene so far has been 
Self-explanatory within itself; after that point the Action 
becomes Self-explanatory by reason of what has gone be- 
fore, beginning with what has happened in the first scene. 
It is a common mistake to suppose that the first part of a 
play should be a mere exposition of the relations between 
people. It is sometimes stated that the first act is intended 
for exposition. On the contrary, if this scene were merely 
Self-explanatory as to the relations between the people, it 
would amount to nothing. There must be Action always, 



ACTION MUST BE SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 305 

and that Action must be Self-explanatory, but this scene 
holds the future in its embrace. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" begins in a Self- 
explanatory way and continues so throughout. It is true 
that Tapwell turns Wellborn adrift on the orders of Marrall 
in pursuance of Sir Giles's plan to ruin him. That fact, 
however, was not required in this first scene. To have a 
scene Self-explanatory does not mean that everything must 
be told or brought out at one time. Tapwell's reason for 
doing what he does is one that is universally understood. 
"If you haven't any money you needn't come around." That 
certainly is simple enough. What is talked about between 
them comes from the necessities of the case. The charges 
and the replies arise naturally from the circumstances. It 
is Self-explanatory in every sentence. We see why Well- 
born is angry and why he beats the inkeeper, an ingrate. 
Above all we see how and why Wellborn is humiliated and 
feels his humiliation to that degree that he determines to 
rise, if he can, now that his feet have touched bottom. If 
Wellborn had knocked at the door demanding entrance, and 
Tapwell had told him to go away to sleep under the canopy 
of the heavens or in a barn, and Wellborn had asserted that 
he had given him the money to set himself up in business, 
etc., we would not have had essential facts explained to us 
in their right order. Wellborn may have lost his money in 
speculation and not in dissipation. We must see him first 
as the drunkard. If his dissipation is explained later it is 
the cart before the horse. It might still be Self-explana- 
tory, but not in the dramatic way. Sequence and Cause 
and Effect have to do with it. Wellborn might have knock- 
ed at the door, been turned away, and then in a monologue, 
have told the audience all about Tapwell, Old Sir John 
Wellborn, his own career as a spendthrift, etc., but the 
manner of it would have been so lamely Self-explanatory 
that we could not admit it as dramatic. As it is, the needed 
explanations are brought out in flash and fire in the contro- 
versy between them. It is not one man explaining things, 



306 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

but the Action itself that explains; the Action itself ex- 
plains itself. It is what happens before our eyes, the matter 
of the moment, that explains itself and incidentally conveys 
needed information not only for immediate use, but for fu- 
ture bearing. The Dialogue between Wellborn and All- 
worth does not explain anything for the benefit of the audi- 
ence, but what they do and feel is explained by what they 
say. Their subjective Action is Self-explanatory, their mo- 
tives made clear, and the impressions conveyed to us, the 
objective Action, affording us that clear intelligence which 
is needed for sympathy and interest. Why does not Well- 
born accept aid and money from his young friend. It is an- 
swered in what he says to Allworth. His present plight 
was his own fault, he will redeem himself alone. Let us 
suppose that Wellborn and AllwOrth had come on together 
at the rise of the curtain, their identity and relations would 
not have been Self-explanatory. As it is we have only one 
thing presented at the time. Of course, if they had come on 
at the rise of the curtain, Allworth's first words might have 
explained at once that he was Wellborn's friend and that he 
wished to help him, but we would have known nothing of 
what is now conveyed in the first scene, and Wellborn's re- 
cital of his treatment would have been explanation and not 
Self-explanatory. Such a scene might be made Self-expla- 
natory, but it would probably be so awkward, so lame, com- 
pared with Massinger's way of doing it that it would not be 
dramatic in the proper degree. What a confusion there 
would be in our minds if Wellborn, the tramp, came on in 
a great fury, followed by Allworth, declaiming against the 
ingratitude of Tapwell. Let him explain to Allworth; it 
would merely be Self-explanatory of his anger. We would 
not learn the things we wanted to know. Inexperienced 
writers fail to provide the Self-explanatory by reason of 
not wfriting objectively, by reason of withholding from the 
audience what the writer is familiar with and is necessary 
for an understanding, of the situation, but of which the au- 
dience is ignorant. To have had Wellborn in a rage at be- 



ACTION MUST BE) SELF-EXPLANATORY, ETC. 307 

ing refused drink would not have touched the point intend- 
ed by Massinger. "Rogue, what am I?" The first sentence 
shows that he is angered because of the treatment of under- 
lings, of people beneath him in his former state. It is seen 
at once. It is enough. Then we have a number of inter- 
vening points, including his history, and finally that it was 
Wellborn who supplied the ready gold for the purchase of 
the inn. If this point had not been kept to the last, all the 
account of Old Sir John would have been pure explanation 
for the audience. After the Action is once fairly started it 
becomes Self-explanatory by reason of the prearranged 
Plot. Could anything be more Self-Explanatory than Lady 
Allworth's counselling her step-son against associating 
with Wellborn? Her high character and what she says be- 
fore she mentions the name of Wellborn, coupled with our 
knowledge of the facts, make it Self-explanatory. The ne- 
cessary Facts have been predigested. When Wellborn ar- 
rives, we know exactly the state of affairs. If we did not 
know! of, had not been absolutely persuaded of, her rever- 
ence for the memory of her husband, how lame would have 
been the scene in which Wellborn gains her sympathy by 
reason of it, and if she had to explain to the audience why 
she yielded. It is Preparation, then, that provides for the 
Self-explanatory. Omit the beatings of Marrall by Sir 
Giles, and have Marrall explain his final conduct by telling 
of them, and his conduct is or would certainly not be Self- 
explanatory; there would have been no Self-development, 
and the Action would not have been Self-progressive. You 
may say that no one would make omission of such obvious 
needs to the Action ; but mistakes of an equivalent kind are 
constantly made by the unpracticed dramatist. It occurs 
in minor things, in the simplest dialogue. This very play 
could be so arranged that pretty much everything would be 
explanation, and it would yet preserve all the material and 
the present Plot. Omit Wellborn's advice to Allworth con- 
cerning Margaret and his description of the character and 
plans of Sir Giles and reserve the substance of it for expla- 



308 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPE 

nation on the part of Allworth to Lord Lovell in the first 
scene between them, we would not have room to make Self- 
explanatory that which the present scene between them, 
Allworth and Lord Lovell, requires. The scene would be 
too diffuse if Self-explanatory about too many things. It 
would become merely Self-explanatory and devoid of Ac- 
tion or would pulsate too weakly. It would be explanatory 
of the Story and not of the immediate Action. We already 
know the Facts and why he asks Lord Lovell to do this ser- 
vice for him. The immediate Action concerns the request. 
Sir Giles is duped first as to the marriage of Wellborn and 
the intentions of Lord Lovell, consequently, all that hap- 
pens afterwards is Self-explanatory, Self-developing and 
Self-progressive. The forces within the play give the Ac- 
tion this quality of self. 



CHAPTER XXV. 



COMPULSION. 

Compulsion is that force operating on the mind and de- 
termining the conduct of a character which compels him to 
act according to the circumstances that have arisen in the 
Action, and which, in the very nature of the drama, cannot 
constantly be controlled by him. 

One characteristic of the drama which differentiates it 
more distinctly from the novel than perhaps any other is 
that the characters do not have their own way in anything 
like the same degree. Cause and Effect and other principles 
have already been explained, making it clear that a logical 
series of happenings, caused one by the other make a dra- 
matic Action. There is an unexpectedness about these 
happenings, of a necessity. In "Ingomar" Parthenia is forced 
to make the journey and offer herself as hostage. This Com- 
pulsion exists in life and comes from the very nature and con- 
stitution of our social and personal relations ; but absolutely 
does not exist at all times in life or Story; while in drama 
it is constanaly existent until the matter at issue is solved. 
There must be something to overcome all the time. The 
Compulsion, of course, may come from within as well as 
without. Ingomar is forced by his love for a pure woman 
and the circumstances of that love to choose between his 
tribe and the woman he loves. He has to make a compro- 
mise with his savage followers in order to gain possession 
of Parthenia as his part of the booty. He is about to be 
forced to betray his countrymen, but is compelled by his 
own sense of honor and the circumstances of the case to 
even abandon Parthenia and return to his savage life, but 
circumstances change, and he remains with Parthenia and 
becomes a Timarch. It is an evolution of circumstances, 
a constant series of compromises and struggles with con- 
flicting interests and selfishness. Nobody has his own 



310 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

sweet will in a play. You have to add, subtract, multiply 
and perform all sorts of mathematical calculations before 
you get the final result. See in each of these plays which 
we are considering, how and why it is that such and such 
things happen, and WHY such and such people have to do 
such and such things. 

In a manner, people are compelled to act according to 
their character and desire to do things ; but a character that 
has everything his own way simply in accordance with his 
character and desire would not be a very useful dramatic 
figure. The definite application of the principle comes from 
the conditions and the Action which make what the 
character does the one thing to do in his judg- 
ment, in these conditions and circumstances. He is 
not deprived of volition and motive. His judgment 
may be wrong, and what he does may be agree- 
able or disagreeable to him, but he does it because of 
some circumstance which arises. Melnotte is impelled 
rather than compelled to send flowers and verse to Pauline, 
for it is volition and comes from within ; but when his mes- 
senger is sent back to him, scorned and beaten, something 
has happened which compels him to resentment and further 
Action. Although the distinction between Impulsion and 
Compulsion is apparently fine sometimes, it is well to make 
the distinction. The play is full of Compulsion, absolute 
and marked. Melnotte is compelled, against his nature, to 
attempt the deception; and there is no doubt that he is 
compelled to carry on the deception and fulfill his contract 
by reason of the danger from the Directory. Otherwise, he 
would have been exposed and punished ; besides, after hav- 
ing compromised Pauline, he saw that she loved him, and 
that if he abandoned her she would fall a prey to Beauseant. 
Hope urges and compels him to accompany Damas to the 
wars. It is the only way for him to redeem himself. His 
sense of infamy will not permit him to accept Pauline's sac- 
rifice. Their lives would be ruined. Pauline is compelled 
to believe in Melnotte's sincerity of love by various circum- 



COMPULSION 311 

stances. Melnotte, as well as Beauseant, is compelled to ^ 
seek revenge. Pauline is compelled to sacrifice herself in 
order to save her father in his bankruptcy. Beauseant and 
Glavis are compelled to submit to Melnotte's disposal of' 
their jewels, because they cannot interfere without seeing 
their plan fail. True, it is a form of Cause and Effect, but 
the Cause is from without. The fancy of Damas for Mel- 
notte is caused rather than actually compelled by circum- 
stances, but while the volition of Damas has much to do 
with it, it is what Melnotte does that compels his friend- 
ship. If Damas had taken a fancy to him from the begin- 
ning, it would be much weaker; we would have had no 
duel. It is by means of this Compulsion that we have 
scenes and Action. 

In one form or another Compulsion exists in every play, 
but is more evident in plays of Plot than in plays of emotion 
and character. Compulsion is found in Cause and Effect, 
but that which we distinctly call Compulsion is what 
is done by reason of a happening beyond the control of 
the Character influenced compelling him to act as he does 
and as it is necessary that the particular character should 
act for the purpose of your play. It is from without rather 
than from within that this compelling force comes, — and 
more from judgment and necessity than from motive. It is 
something apart from free will, the opposite of design, and 
produced by the clash of opposing wills or the 
combination of circumstances. The most striking bit 
of Compulsion in "Camille" is the self-sacrifice of 
Camille by reason of the representations of Du- 
val. Purely as a matter of emotion Camille would not have 
yielded ; she stands her ground valiantly until facts compel 
her judgment. Duval says : "I have a daughter young, 
beautiful and pure as an angel. She loves as you do. That 
love has been the dream of her life. But the family of the 
man about to marry her has learned the relation between 
you and Armand and declared the withdrawal of their con- 
sent unless he gives you up. You see, then, how much de- 



312 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

pends on you. Let me entreat you in the name of your love 
for her brother, to save my daughter's peace." That deter- 
mines Camille. "I understand you and you are right," she 
replies. It usually takes a fact or some happening to 
amount to Compulsion. Duval is compelled to respect her 
gradually, by her bearing and utterance. True; but by 
what conclusive fact is his full respect accomplished? Ca- 
mille shows him a list of all she possesses on earth. She is 
compelled to show him this list in self defence. He sees that, 
she was about to abandon all for her love for Ar- 
mand. Nothing that she could have said in mere 
words could have had the same effect. In each case there 
were Unexpected facts operating against the will. This 
Compulsion may be noted not alone in the Plot, but in the 
minute movements of the Action which may be called me- 
chanical, but which are wholly natural. Nichette, it is true, 
has a motive for making her exit in the second scene, but it 
depends upon something apart from her mere will ; Gustave 
is waiting for her. That comes within our definition of 
Compulsion. The Dialogue which follows between Var- 
ville and Nanine is compelled by what has happened, and is 
not mere curiosity, neither is it a mere convenience of the 
author. Camille has been compelled to give up her 
effort to enter society. This Compulsion, then, is a dis- 
tinct motive power in the Action apart from individual mo- 
tive. It makes the wheels, large and small, go round. Var- 
ville is compelled to leave because of his treatment, because 
he is not invited to remain to supper, and because he sees 
that his "star is not propitious." It is not Camille's initia- 
tive that brings Armand to her. 

The tendency of the drama is strongly against having 
things happen according to individual volition. Ca- 
mille is compelled, in a manner, to like Armand, 
from something that is said in a conversation in 
which she takes no part. She is also interested in the story 
of his devotion, which she now hears for the first time, al- 
though she has known of attentions by an unknown caller 



COMPULSION 313 

during an illness. She is compelled to believe his sincerity 
by the evidences of it. She is compelled to discourage his 
attentions by reason of her mode of life and her regard for 
his social position and this new form of devotion. Of course, 
the Compulsion of emotion largely prevails, but the Com- 
pulsion of Fact is strong and decisive. Armand's jealousy 
and his note compel her to hesitate in receiving his further 
attentions, although there is a marked conflict between her 
love and her judgment. In order to see Armand she is com- 
pelled to send Varville off, and Varville is compelled to go. 
A note is received from Varville, and when Armand makes 
it "the touchstone of her worth" she is compelled to make 
her choice of Action. Do you not see the difference be- 
tween Compulsion and mere volition when you assume that 
this very same result could have been reached at the end of 
the interview between the lovers without the inter- 
vention of this note? Of course, drama does not 
exclude volition, but the whole tendency is toward outside 
Compulsion of some sort, direct or incidental. Camille's 
first impulse is to retire and not to talk with Duval, but an 
outside matter, a fact, the letter which Duval produces com- 
pels her to remain and stand her ground. These two people 
are arguing for their lives, so to speak. If you were under 
a charge affecting your honor and safety would you speak 
merely because you wanted to or because of the Compul- 
sion? Everything that happens in the fourth act down to 
its conclusion is against the will. Camille is compelled to 
remain at the ball once she is there. She did not expect Ar- 
mand to be there. She is compelled to keep her secret of self- 
sacrifice, but is also compelled to talk with Armand in order 
to prevent, if possible, the duel. Armand is compelled to seek 
the duel in a roundabout way, for he has no real rights in 
the matter and would make himself ridiculous otherwise. 
Varville is compelled to fight. It might be said that Ar- 
mand's act in showering Camille with the money in con- 
tempt is pure volition. No, the circumstances are back of 
it. It is not caprice, vacillation or volition merely that 



314 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

causes Duval to write to Camille and to reveal her sacrifice 
to Armand. He is compelled to do so by the circumstances. 
.And so, to the end of the play, volition goes hand in hand 
with circumstances. The mere will does not govern cir- 
cumstances., 

Compulsion in "Still Waters Run Deep" is very marked. 
Characters act according to circumstances, according to 
happenings either not of their direct causing or beyond 
their immediate control. We feel in the very beginning of 
the Action that Mildmay has a reason for his patient con- 
duct. The principal and controlling reason does not appear 
in the first scene, but we soon realize, in analysis, what we 
know from the Proposition of the play, that he can not re- 
gain his influence in his household and master the three 
people in it until he has thwarted Hawksley at every point. 
That he has to thwart him first is nominated in the bond, 
stated in the Proposition ; if this plan were not carried out 
it would be some other play, not the play that has held the 
boards so long and afforded such opportunities to so many 
good actors. It would be an easy matter to have a wrong 
Sequence, to drop a stitch somewhere in the construction, 
and put Mildmay in a position where he would be compell- 
ed to act otherwise than he does. If he, instead of Mrs. 
Sternhold, had overheard the conversation between Emily 
and Hawksley the compulsion for him to emerge and settle 
matters then and there would have been stronger than the 
very Proposition and premises of the play. But the drama- 
tist does not put him in that position. Hawksley is forced 
to give up his plan with Emily for the night by his scene with 
Mrs. Sternhold, for he knows that she is on the watch. 
Emily could have no better duenna now than her aunt. At 
all events, it is all up with Hawksley, for the night. There 
is a slight distinction between an act that is Caused and one 
that is Compelled. Mrs. Sternhold's hiding behind the 
screen of plants is caused by what has been told her by Pot- 
ter. Of course, she is compelled by a sense of duty as well 
as by the spirit of jealousy. It is true that she does some- 



COMPULSION 315 

thing not of her own initiative and that is dramatic Compul- 
sion, but it is not as distinctly Compulsion as Mildmay's ap- 
parent inaction or silence, or as Mrs. Sternhold's necessity 
to keep silence after she is threatened with the making pub- 
lic of her thirteen letters to Hawksley. She is in a tight fix, 
is the dame with the rouge pot and a temper. She has lost 
faith in the shares as well as in the adorable Hawksley as a 
gentleman. Dare say, she would use her claws on the ad- 
venturer if it came to the worst, but in the meanwhile she is 
compelled to stand by and see matters take their course. 
Hawksley played it low down on her. He plays a gambit 
opening on her and checkmates her in about three moves. 
Is there anything to test one's temper more than that? She 
is humiliated, bound and gagged, and can't move a foot. If 
you have not been able to see Dramatic Compulsion before 
this time, behold it now. No doubt Emily would have told 
her husband about Hawksley's conduct, in the last scene, if 
she had not felt compelled to remain silent because Mild- 
may is about to survey the premises with the shot gun. She 
was compelled to remain silent or expose herself at a mo- 
ment when she might have involved herself in a tragedy. 
The amiable suggestion may also be made that Emily was 
compelled to do a little lying when her husband asks her 
how the garden door came to be open. Fortunately, neither 
the natural nor the dramatic necessity required her to do any 
elaborate and detailed lying. Mrs. Sternhold sends Potter to 
get Mildmay to come to her so that she may have a talk 
with him and lay her cause before him. She has a definite 
purpose, but she is compelled to forego it when she sees 
that Mildmay has no sympathy with her and when he re- 
minds her of what she has said about him that morninsr. 
The mild Mildmay takes occasion to lay down the law to 
her, and she does what she has not intended to do, keeps sil- 
ent about Hawksley and the letters, Compulsion. There 
could be no better example of Compulsion than the manner 
and means taken by Mildmay to compel Hawksley to give 
up the letters and return the money for the shares and take 



3l6 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

back the shares. Is there any absolute Compulsion that 
forces Mildmay to listen to Hawksley's algebraic demon- 
stration of his scheme? Yes, in order to make Hawksley 
feel that the mild Mildmay sees through his chicanery and 
pretensions. That effect is conveyed perfectly. Hawksley 
feels that the ground is giving away from under him with 
every cool and penetrating remark made by his antagonist. 
It comes within the definition of Compulsion whenever 
characters shape their conduct according to circumstances. 
We cannot insist that it must be the only possible thing 
they could do, but it is what a person of a certain character 
would do under given circumstances or what he does if it is 
not inconsistent with the character. It may not be what 
you would do in the same circumstances if you knew what 
you do know as a spectator. Hawksley is in desperate 
straits for money; we have seen that from his talk with 
Dunbilk. He is not going to lose his chances. He does not 
purpose to permit himself to be ruined by Mildmay's talk. 
He has what he supposes is the only evidence of his crimi- 
nality. He does not expect, perhaps, to get Potter to invest 
or to regain his influence over Mrs. Sternhold or to suc- 
ceed with Mrs. Mildmay, but he must humiliate Mildmay 
and shut his mouth. If practical motives did not compel 
him to put in an appearance at the dinner at Mildmay's and 
to horsewhip him, his conduct would be preposterous and 
merely for the purposes of the play. Probably such an au- 
dacious character existed in London at the period of this 
play, but he would not have taken his course merely out of 
bravado. He does take it and falls into the trap prepared 
by Mildmay. Some of the incidents in the last act are over- 
drawn, and Compulsion, mainly implied in this case, is the 
only thing that makes it possible. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is substantial, 
so rooted in character, that every movement in it is motived. 
The discrimination, however, which you will have to make 
between Motive and Compulsion, or that which gives occa- 
sion to conduct, will be helpful in enabling you to see the 



COMPULSION 3 T 7 

principal function of Compulsion in playwriting. Character 
is educed by circumstances. The play opens with Compul- 
sion. Here is a spendthrift turned out of a taproom by for- 
mer tenants of his to whom he had given the sum necessary 
to buy the inn. He had reached the lowest step of degrada- 
tion. There is no reason to believe that Wellborn had 
formed the design which he puts into execution later on, be- 
fore he was refused even "the dropping of the tap for his 
morning's draught." He had exhausted his last resource. 
He could go no further in the downward path. He was com- 
pelled to pull himself together and mount again. What else 
was there for him to do? True, his design was voluntary, 
but it was compelled by the circumstances. His plan of 
procedure compelled him to refuse Allworth's tender of mo- 
ney and help. Compulsion is more plainly visible in Plot 
than elsewhere, but it can exist in the minor passages of a 
play. It exists there in the reasonableness of things. One 
of Wellborn's reasons for refusing aid from Allworth is that 
he is a boy and lives at the devotion of a stepmother and the 
uncertain favor of a lord ; but he is compelled to refuse the 
offer more by reason of circumstances that force him to fol- 
low a certain plan. Tom Allworth, the boy, is compelled to 
obey his' stepmother's injunction to give up the company 
of Wellborn. It was no voluntary act of his own. It is true 
that Lady Allworth's point of view as to Wellborn, who had 
lost himself in vicious courses, was taken from her elevation 
of character ; but even here, the initiative of her thoughts is 
to be referred back to the degradation of Wellborn. Cir- 
cumstances compelled her. In like manner, she was com- 
pelled to grant the request for her apparent favor made by 
Wellborn. Her point of view is changed entirely by the 
pious remembrance of her husband, which had been stirred 
by him who is a suitor for her kindness. It cannot be said 
that Justice Greedy is compelled to be as vicious as he is, 
but it is apparent that he is in the power of Sir Giles, and 
practically compelled to carry out his purposes. Marrall is 
in much the same position. We have said that the play 



3l8 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

opens with Compulsion, but we did not and could not begin 
by calling attention to a bit of Compulsion which is reveal- 
ed for the first time in the talk between Sir Giles and Mar- 
rail. We were satisfied with the knowledge of the sordid 
and heartless nature of Tapwell and Froth ; but it now ap- 
pears that they were compelled to turn Wellborn out, be- 
cause Marrall expressly says that "last night he caused his 
host, the tapster, to turn him out of doors." Here again, we 
have a minute added ray of light on the state of affairs which 
was apparent with sufficient force for technical purposes at 
the moment, namely, that Wellborn had lost his last footing 
through the machinations of Sir Giles. Marrall's motive in 
accompanying Wellborn to dine with Lady Allworth is cu- 
riosity. The circumstances compel him to accompany 
Wellborn. The servants were compelled by their mistress 
to receive Wellborn with every observance of courtesy. No 
doubt, Wellborn was better clad when he presented himself 
with Marrall at Lady Allworth's house than when we first 
saw him. Necessarily, Marrall was compelled to believe his 
own eyes when he saw the favor in which Wellborn seemed 
to stand. At all events, Marrall is completely cozened. Sir 
Giles is certainly warranted by all the circumstances in be- 
lieving that Marrall is mad to tell him such fantastic stories 
of Wellborn's favor with Lady Allworth and of having been 
taken by him to dine with her. The change which is going 
to compel Marrall to become Sir Giles's enemy is surely 
caused largely by the Compulsion of Sir Giles's stick. He is 
compelled by a sense of injustice and by the smarting of the 
blows. It matters not how much his emotions are involved, 
the initiative influence is from outside. He is drawn to 
Wellborn by his apparent rise and prospects in the world. 
Sometimes we get to a point where the distinction between 
Motive and Compulsion is very fine, but whenever the influ- 
ence from without is directly at work, Compulsion has its 
share in what is done. The result may come from Motive 
superinduced by outside circumstances. Margaret is a du- 
tiful child, and perhaps would not have deceived her father 



COMPULSION 319 

in the most critical circumstances of a woman's life and of a 
father's love and ambition for her, if Sir Giles had not re- 
vealed to her his own baseness in instructing her as to her 
conduct in the coming interview with Lord Lovell. The 
drama does not prevent characters from being free agents 
except when fate and circumstances control. It provides 
for the Action and reaction of volition and circumstance. A 
certain Compulsion is always present. Sir Giles is forced 
to deceive himself by reason of the deception practiced on 
him by his daughter and Lord Lovell. The motive power of 
the Action of the Plot proceeds from this deception. The 
Compulsion which orders the giving of the ring to Allworth 
to carry him to the presence of his daughter and also to 
obtain a license for her marriage at Nottingham, is not the 
less Compulsion because Sir Giles is not conscious of it. 
Lady Allworth and Lord Lovell are brought together by 
reason of circumstances ; they were both, on different lines, 
aiding and abetting in the conspiring against the brutal old 
miser, and each had to do with the love affair of Tom All- 
worth, the beloved stepson of one, and the equally beloved 
follower of the other. Love Was in the air. Except for 
these compelling circumstances, Lady Allworth would have 
listened to no suitor. Certainly the Compulsion that un- 
consciously hastens Overreach's footsteps to his own ruin, 
an unrelenting and fierce Compulsion, is a different degree 
from the gentle Compulsion which brings together in life 
two people beyond the ardors of the passion of youth. Just 
as we have said that drama is not determined by its in- 
tensity (else we could have only melodrama) so Compulsion 
has its different degrees. The Compulsion in the case of the 
razed deed is absolute and decisive. Sir Giles is powerless. 
He has been compelled to believe by circumstances that 
Wellborn is married to Lady Allworth. True, he might be 
able to proceed against his nephew for moneys recently 
loaned, but events are hurrying him on to his own ruin, and 
his madness compels him to forego his immediate scheme of 
revenge for his latest defeats. His madness even is com- 



320 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

pelled first by his helplessness in the matter of retaining the 
land out of which he has defrauded his nephew, and then by 
the positive and unexpected refusal of Marrall to 
bear witness as to the former drawing and deliver- 
ing of the deed. Circumstances compel his madness. 
Sir Giles is compelled to accept the facts at which 
his reason totters; Margaret is married to the lover 
of her choice, and the workings of his signet ring can- 
not be undone. Marrall is defeated in his own treachery, 
for he has been associated in the ruining of Wellborn, and 
can gain no foothold of favor with him. Wellborn is dou- 
bly bound by the happy turn of affairs to redeem himself in 
some noble way. Until then he is "but half made up." Be- 
lief in his sincerity compels the other characters to give him 
their admiration and friendship ; and finally comes the most 
needful of all Compulsion, "a fair favor due to the poet's 
labors." 



CHAPTER XXVI. 



FACTS. 



Dramatic Fact is that which is accepted by the audience 
for the purposes of the Action and made actual by the pro- 
cess of Dramatic law. 

There should be no such thing as "probability" in a 
play. A thing must be one way or the other. It matters 
not how "improbable" the general theme of the play may 
be, we accept as Facts the wildest extravagances, in plays 
expressly improbable. In plays dealing with ordinary life 
the Facts must be real Facts and not merely Facts on suf- 
ferance. Here, again, we see how one principle in the 
drama is linked with another, for if we have a Cause that we 
accept or an Effect that we accept there is going to be no 
improbability. One might say that it was very "improba- 
ble" for Parthenia to risk herself among the barbarians. 
But why so? She does it, and there was every justification 
for her doing it. But we must prove our Facts as in a 
Court at law. All the Facts necessary to prove the reason- 
ableness of Parthenia's expedition are clearly set forth. We 
have seen them; we have experienced them in our sym- 
pathetic attention; we have lived them in surrendering 
ourselves to the illusion of the Action of the play. Ingo- 
mar is not only possible and "probable," he is actual in 
the play. He possibly never existed, but he has been made 
to exist, and several generations of actors and managers 
concerned in the production of the play have lived and 
passed away since he and Parthenia began to live on the 
stage. Facts, Facts, Facts, make a play. It is in the Con- 
structive work that you will meet your difficulties in secur- 
ing Facts and proving everything. Because of missing or 
unproved Facts many plays fail. The tendency in good 
writing is to make secure your Facts. Objectivity has a 

21 



322 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

good deal to do with this, but all the principles con- 
tribute. 

"The Lady of Lyons" is so romantic that it might 
easily have fallen into a mass of improbabilities if every- 
thing had not been referred to dramatic Fact. A Fact from 
real life would not serve in the drama if it could not be ac- 
cepted by the audience or if it were too improbable. Mel- 
notte lived several leagues from Lyons, as may be seen 
where Beauseant stops at the inn and hears him acclaimed 
"Prince." If Melnotte had lived in the immediate neighbor- 
hood of Pauline, the story would have been absurd. She 
would have known of the title which Melnotte bore by cour- 
tesy. He assumes an Italian title when he is presented to 
the Deschappelles. Many things are made Facts by 
means of Objectivity. Such Facts are proved. Thus, Mel- 
notte's love is made a Fact by the scene with his mother; 
and so on throughout the play. It requires the rejection of 
Beauseant to make a Fact of the charge made byDamasthat 
they would be wanting a Prince next. It is important to es- 
tablish the Fact, in the last act, that Melnotte thinks Pau- 
line is faithless, that she is really making a sacrifice of her- 
self; that Melnotte has made a fortune in the wars; that he 
has not been known to Pauline and others under the name 
of Col. Morier; otherwise we would not understand how it 
was possible that Pauline had heard nothing of him in the 
meantime. Not only is Melnotte bronzed and changed in 
appearance, in name and in dress, but he is muffled up and 
partly conceals his face. Moreover, improbable things hap- 
pened in these romantic times. The mother and the daugh- 
ter were blinded by their folly, to begin with. The father 
was absorbed in business and had nothing to say in the so- 
cial aspirations and aims of his family, a common case. 
Damas was an active character, consequently, Dumas made 
a fact of his suspicions, of his bluntness and democracy and 
final friendship with Melnotte. Some of these Facts had to 
be proved Objectively, others were acceptable from the 
statement at once or were proved later. Again, a Fact from 



FACTS 323 

real life or in the Material must be treated in the dramatic 
way in order to serve. If Melnotte's mother had not con- 
veyed to us before the arrival of her son with Pauline that 
she thought her son had told Pauline the truth about his 
identity, there would have been an undramatic use of the 
Facts. 

You have certain Facts in your Conditions Precedent. 
They are Facts. But it remains to convert them into dra- 
matic Fact and introduce them into your play so as to make 
them count for the most. Do it in the wrong way, and they 
are half Fact or no Fact at all. All that Material has to be 
translated into the dramatic, otherwise it may not be even 
intelligible. That Camille has worked as an embroideress 
in the same establishment with Nichette is a Fact hardly of 
any importance in itself, but when we see that Camille is 
not forgetful of her old companions, it predisposes us to- 
ward her at the outset. Nichette loves her. It becomes per- 
fectly clear why Camille takes such an interest in the pure 
girl and her happiness in marriage. It makes the subse- 
quent Episodes possible and natural. Observe that it is 
used almost entirely for Episode. If any part of the Plot 
Action had turned on it, more would have been made of it. 
We might have had to prove it additionally. The Plot Ac- 
tion does turn on the existence of Armand's sister. But 
there is no reason to doubt either Armand or his father as 
to her. She does not figure except through others, conse- 
quently, she is sufficiently a Fact. After the Action is start- 
ed the characters and their emotions become visible Facts. 
Prudence is a gormand ; we see it at the supper. She is im- 
provident and always in need of money ; scenes are provided 
to show it. Without them the scene in the last act would 
count for nothing. Everything that happens offstage and 
between the Acts is so logical that we accept it instantly. 
The causes have to be shown. We know that Duval has 
learned to respect and sympathize with the true love of 
Camille from his interview with her, and that he knows that 
her death is, in some degree, the result of her sacrifice 



324 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

which she has so sufficiently maintained. Then we have the 
letter shown to us Objectively. If Duval had parted from 
Camille in anger, and without sympathy, his letter might 
still be Fact, but it would be in the nature of "Story" Fact. 
The verity and reasonableness of everything is proved logic- 
ally or circumstantially ; or even the obvious sincerity of the 
speaker. The history of Camille's relations with the Due de 
Meuriac is essential to the Action and requires no further 
proof, although we have incidents that make us sure of his 
individuality. They are also introduced in such a way as 
not to disturb the Action. Such Facts are so subordinate 
that we are much more interested in some dominating and 
more important Fact in the same connection. The Fact that 
Camille has friends in her illness who have not forgotten her 
entirely is more important than the gifts themselves. The 
fact that Gustave lost his first case at law is of far less im- 
portance than the merriment that it causes. Does it pay for 
itself in the spirit of the talk between Camille and Nichette? 
It would have been the same if the Plot had been that Gus- 
tave won the case if we had got the humor of it. We might 
have imagined the Fourth Act omitted entirely, but it would 
make a great difference in the value of the Facts. The duel 
could still have been fought, but Armand would not have 
been in the same state of emotion and appreciation of the 
sufferings of Camille when he arrived lovingly to forgive 
her and ask forgiveness. The play is built solidly of Facts, 
and it is difficult to contrive examples of how these Facts 
could have been destroyed utterly. The very reason of the 
long vogue of this play is bound up in the impression of 
actuality that it gives in performance. The vicissitudes of 
emotion that are actually lived by Armand and Camille are 
not of a kind that could be simulated. Omit the great scene 
between Duval and Camille and you subtract from the con- 
sequent Facts. That Camille is suffering from consumption 
is purely incidental. Dumas could not unite her with Ar- 
mand except by her death at the end of the play. It is thus 
an important Fact, but the Action does not turn on it. It 



FACTS 325 

excites the apprehension of Armand and is technically used 
to give them an opportunity for their first talk. The Fact 
that Camille is a consumptive is usually too much emphasiz- 
ed in the acting. 

"Still Waters Run Deep" being largely a play of Charac- 
ter the Facts of Character are well taken care of. There 
is a certain weakness in the demonstration of the Facts re- 
garding the forged notes, but the truth of this part of the 
Action in detail was not absolutely needed. Hawksley is 
such an infamous scoundrel, so typical of a class, that we 
cannot doubt anything against him. Hawksley's conduct 
and his own tacit admission as to the forged bills is suffi- 
cient in the scene in the second act. The case did not turn 
upon any further proof than is given whether Hawksley had 
forged the bills or not, but in Mildmay's possession of them 
we know now what it was that Mildmay had in hand with 
Gimlet. There are many minor Facts in this play which it 
is convenient for the author to make visible proof of. When 
Hawksley says that he will not need to climb the garden 
wall, but will use the door, and Emily asks who would open 
it, Hawksley produces a key. That a savage mastiff has 
been presented to Emily by Hawksley and that he would 
not bite his former master is not of enough importance to 
require further proof than the statement. One would be 
Fact-mad to provide a glimpse of the dog or to have him 
assert his existence by a bark or to have him seen respond- 
ing to the call and touch of his former master. That the bolt 
has been removed from the glass door of the conservatory 
is proved objectively. It was so convenient to prove the 
Fact that to have omitted the proof would have impaired 
the Fact. The Fact that Hawksley was a coward because 
he wished to fight Mildmay with pistols when he knew that 
Mildmay was not expert in their use is perhaps unduly 
insisted on. However, the real Fact of importance was to 
prove to those present in the room that Hawksley had rea- 
son to wish to kill him without taking chances. 
There is something very artificial in the scene, at best, a 



326 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

scoundrel offering to kill a man in his own house by means 
of an unequal duel. But the play is about at an end at this 
point, and the mechanism may be tolerated. 

"A New Way to Pay Old Debts" is no more re- 
markable in any other respect than in the impression it 
gives that everything in it is Fact. And yet it is full of Con- 
ditions Precedent and what might easily have fallen into the 
form of Story. It exemplifies in a remarkable degree what 
and how much we will believe and accept as Fact when it 
is conveyed under emotion, when no circumstance points to 
incredibility, and when dramatic requirements have been 
followed. Look at the detail of Facts in the first scene. If 
Tapwell had made an issue of Wellborn's statement that he 
had lent him the money with which to buy the inn, and if 
proof were material, we would not accept the Facts as they 
now are. They are brought out in such a way, however, 
that they are proved incidentally by more than mere state- 
ment. We see that Tapwell is exactly the kind of person to 
be so ungrateful. After we once hear Wellborn speak and 
see that he has been a gentleman we accept his present con- 
dition as proof of what Tapwell describes as his career. He 
has spent his patrimony in dissipation and but a moment 
ago he was asking for drink. We have no reason to doubt 
the Facts set forth in the talk between Wellborn and All- 
worth. We do accept them provisionally and without re- 
serve, but many of these Facts are yet to be proved. They 
are too important not to be shown visually, and it is a part 
of the Action that they should be so shown. We expect 
them to be shown, and that is one reason that We accept 
them. Other Facts we see as the Action is developed. It is 
a Fact that Wellborn determines to redeem himself because 
he has suffered such humiliation at the hands of the un- 
grateful former servant. He has reached the lowest step in 
his downward career, and realizes that he is friendless. We 
would have believed him if we had seen him turning from 
the door of the inn and heard him tell of the refusal of drink, 
but the fact would not have served so well as it does now. 



FACTS 327 

It would have been only a part of the Fact. Other Facts 
had to be brought out in connection with that Fact. If we 
had not seen the Facts of Wellborn's desperate condition 
the result of his reckless expenditures, the Facts of the 
scene with the creditors later on would have lost much of 
its force. We would perhaps have accepted the Facts, but 
they would have been less vivid. This play is full to over- 
flowing with Facts, and in innumerable instances the proof 
of them is wholly circumstantial. They require no other 
proof. That Sir Giles practiced fraud in obtaining 
the deed is not demonstrated in detail, and, indeed, 
if absolute demonstration were needed in the play, 
the Action would have to be made equivalent to 
the proceedings in a court of law. Property, at 
that time, was held by the possession of deeds, but no doubt 
then, as now, Wellborn might have recovered his property 
in a suit in equity ; but the play was not about that ; the es- 
sential thing in the Action is that Sir Giles overreaches him- 
self and dies in an access of madness. We may assume that 
the property reverts to Wellborn. It really does not matter 
whether it does or not. The whole business of the razed 
deed is in the nature of a coup de theatre. It is proved by 
the objective exhibition of the parchment that the deed has 
been erased. The circumstances make us believe that Mar- 
rail has executed his revenge on Sir Giles in this way. Mar- 
rail, in fact, explains his own motives in asking for a reward. 
Marrall was Sir Giles's confidential man. Massinger ar- 
rayed Fact after Fact and fortified them all with circum- 
stances and motive, Cause and Effect. 



CHAPTER XXVII. 



THE NECESSARY AND THE UNNECESSARY. 

What is Necessary and what is Unnecessary applies to 
every part and particle of a play. Your whole play may be 
Unnecessary, for that matter. Even after you have the 
structure of your play, (which depends on working out 
your problem after the manner already pointed out), in 
which you encountered occasion for your judgment as to 
what is essential or immaterial, until your very last line is 
written you will not be free from the need of being always 
on the enquiry as to whether this or that detail is Necessary 
or Unnecessary, or as to whether you have all the essential 
things and do not have to introduce something that has 
been omitted. Playwriting is a process of thought. Bear 
that in mind always. In certain Scenes and Dialogue, it is 
always well to have the enquiry at hand : — "What of it ?" — 
This applies to Words, sentences, ideas, Facts, happenings, 
everything. "What difference does it make?" — for every- 
thing in a play must have a significance and bear some rela- 
tion to matters in hand. This includes the superfluous. 
Suppose a ship is referred to in the course of the Action of 
a play, the ship being very important to the Action ; would 
you stop to describe its spars and furnish all the Details 
about it? It might be Necessary to speak of its speed if 
that has a bearing on the Action, but not otherwise. You 
would not bring in Unnecessary and detailed description. 
'Of course not; but in amateur plays the Unnecessary and 
superfluous characterize them. In the present analytic 
part of our work it is enough, and essential and Necessary 
for you, to observe the Necessary things in the plays in 
hand, why they are used, for what purpose, and how. In 
the constructive part of your work you will have to take up 
arms against a sea of unnecessary things that will surge 
in on you. The structural parts of a play must be consist- 



THE NECESSARY AND THE UNNECESSARY 329 

ent, logical and dramatic, and soon become fixed. When 
we get to the Action of the moment the manner of doing 
things becomes less absolute, for the fixed thing may often 
be accomplished in more ways than one. To express My- 
Ton's servitude it was not absolutely necessary to represent 
him with a fagot of wood in his armsj but to show his ser- 
vitude in some manner was Necessary. 

Everything in "The Lady of Lyons" was necessary 
from the point of view of the author. In this respect there 
is great liberality. With this liberty the individuality of 
the dramatist is safeguarded. In those things that are tech- 
nically Necessary he has no choice except as to means ; but 
he is not hampered in making use of this principle or Meth- 
od of the Necessary and the Unnecessary, for it is an imple- 
ment of the craftsman. To provide all that is Necessary 
and to guard against all that is Unnecessary reaches to 
every part of the play. The play could be done, and often is 
done, in omitting the first set scene entirely and beginning 
with the meeting and wish for a plan to humble Pauline be- 
tween Beauseant and Glavis, but it can only proceed from 
the sordid purpose of the manager to save scenery or ex- 
pense. Of course there are many things that are Necessary 
to the Action, but not to the Plot proper. It is not Neces- 
sary to the Plot that Glavis should look at the bill of fare at 
the Inn, but it is Necessary to his Character and, techni- 
cally, to the gradation of the scene. There are differences 
between the fixed essence of a play and the accidental and 
incidental. But everything must be essential, in its way, 
and Necessary, absolutely or incidentally. Some of the lines 
are not absolutely Necessary. It was Necessary, at the very 
outset, to make Melnotte a peasant in order to humiliate the 
pride of Pauline, and it was Necessary NOT to make her an 
aristocrat, for, otherwise, it would have been a play involv- 
ing something wholly different in treatment and purpose. 
It was not Necessary that the widow should appear in the 
last act. It was not Necessary to go into the Details of the 
bankruptcy of Deschappelles. No doubt it was Macready 



330 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

who made the amount of the debt of Deschappelles definite, 
in a way ; Damas shows the paper : "This is the schedule — 
this the total — ", while Melnotte "gives pocket-book" and 
outbids "yon sordid huckster for the precious jewel." 
"There is the sum twice told." It is theatric, and the fat 
wallet is almost worn out for dramatic use, but it illustrates 
soundness of theory, and practice Objectivity and Fact. 
As a business proposition the Notary would not have ac- 
cepted Morier's note of hand; besides, the Action would 
have fallen into Story. 

Of course, we begin to determine the essential things the 
very moment we attempt the structure of a play, beginning 
with the Proposition. The Plot, in particular, has its neces- 
sity and its absolute requirements. It is not to such obvious 
things that we are to give our attention in making this 
analysis. It would be profitable to study the Necessities of 
Plot and the like also, but we wish to confine the present 
study of "Camille" to specific Necessities of a smaller kind 
which are often overlooked. The first striking example of a 
Necessity is the technical Necessity of introducing Nichette 
at the opening of the play. It would have been very awk- 
ward to place her anywhere else. Apparently there is no- 
room for her on and after the arrival of the guests for the 
supper. To have got her in after the first act would have in- 
terrupted the progress of the Action; consequently, she is 
got in and disposed of, having served also the purpose of 
the author in bringing about the conversation between Na- 
nine and Varville that sets forth the Conditions Precedent. 
Except for the contrast in the Epistles, and the Necessity of 
making Nichette a former friend of Camille it would not 
have been Necessary to bring out the fact that she has also- 
been an embroideress. No precise details are given of Ca- 
mille's family. It was Necessary for Camille to make the 
sacrifice, for it was required by the Proposition itself. It 
had to be made visible and a fact, an Objective Fact. A 
great deal depends upon the author's point of view as to 
what he considers necessary. Thus, from the French point 



THE NECESSARY AND THE UNNECESSARY 33 1 

of view, the love and veneration of a son for a mother is a 
point that is exceedingly touching. That Armand should 
dispose of property coming as an inheritance from his moth- 
er in order to live with Camille is a strong case against him. 
The father urges it in his talk with Camille. In discussing 
Episode we show that it was Necessary to have the 
apparently aimless talk from Camille's companions at the 
Supper. In that way, the yellow cab was Necessary, not in 
itself, but something of the kind was, in order to show the 
frivolity of these people. 

The most striking point is "Still Waters Run Deep" in the 
matter of what was considered Unnecessary by Taylor is 
that he did not at once reveal in precise terms Mildmay's 
means of defeating Hawksley with the forged notes. We 
know that it is something, but do not learn until the prin- 
cipal scene, in the second act, exactly what it is. Taylor 
considered it entirely Unnecessary to impart the information 
that Mildmay had been in the counting house when the bills 
were presented. Other things were more important to the 
development of the particular Action than to give us details 
of that transaction. It would have involved too much com- 
plication. The chase would have led too far afield. The 
play would have been about it and not about Mildmay's loss 
of authority in his household. He did not think it Neces- 
sary to bring out Gimlet's personality in the first act. He 
sought to confine the play within certain limits. He found it 
Necessary to have a second bill in order to have the third 
act. You will observe that Potter is kept in ignorance of ex- 
actly what has been done by Mildmay. It is not Necessary, 
for that matter, to restore Mildmay's influence over Potter, 
for he was wholly under the influence of his sister. We may 
well imagine that the Facts will reach him eventually, and 
it is a fine stroke to leave it as it is, Potter remaining at the 
very close a doddering, pliant, old easygoing, retired man of 
business. "John Mildmay," says Potter, "I ask your par- 
don — Jane and Emily say I ought ; though what I've done, 
or what there is to ask pardon for — ". Mildmay's reply is 



332 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

"perhaps you will learn in time." In the exercise on Char- 
acter in the play we call attention to some of the Necessities 
of the case there. The Necessities of the Plot belong to a 
distinct part of our investigation. We show in the exercise 
on Dialogue how many Unnecessary things were avoided. 
The mathematical computations of Hawksley in the second 
act were thought Necessary from Taylor's point of view. 
Absolutely Necessary they were not. 

The question as to the Necessary or the Unnecessary ap- 
plies to every part of a play, is applicable to every principle, 
and is, consequently, in its exercise, more of a method than 
a distinct principle. We shall call attention only to a few 
striking examples of the operation of Massinger's mind in 
this particular. Undoubtedly questions as to the use, how 
and where, of certain things arose and he had to decide 
them. It was not an accident that gave us the first know- 
ledge, in the second act, that it was Sir Giles, through Mar- 
rail, that caused Tap well to refuse further credit to Well- 
born. It was not Necessary for the audience to know it at 
the time. In the same scene it was not Necessary for the 
audience to know that Tapwell was a receiver of stolen 
goods. In both cases the knowledge would have been harm- 
ful. In the matter of the Necessary, the Proposition and 
the Plot are the most exacting, perhaps. There must be 
Cause and Effect and Sequence. There must be Action. 
The Necessary things, those that are absolutely Necessary, 
the trained mind easily determines. The untrained mind is 
constantly doing the Unnecessary things ; whereas the fine- 
ness of the art is best proved by the rejection of Unneces- 
sary things. The drama is the most economical of arts. The 
completion of a play rests with the words ; after everything 
else is done they must be supplied. This is a play in which 
the medium of words is relied upon to a considerable extent, 
as is the case with all dramas in verse, and yet its compact- 
ness is nowhere more evident than in its words. Every one 
counts. There is an excess of words now and then in the 



THE NECESSARY AND THE UNNECESSARY 333 

original play, but the stage version is remarkably free from 
redundancy. In the actual writing of a play the question of 
what is Necessary comes up with constant frequency with 
reference to Preparation. "I must go back and do so and 
so," the dramatist finds himself saying to himself. "This 
scene is too long. That one is too short." It was not Ne- 
cessary to develop Margaret more than she is developed. 
A good deal depends upon the point of view of the author 
as to what is Necessary. The episode of paying off the cre- 
ditors by Wellborn is not absolutely necessary to the Plot, 
but there is a great latitude permissable to the author in 
the Action. The Episode is certainly not Unnecessary, eith- 
er absolutely or relatively. It proves the fact that Sir Giles 
has supplied him with money. This connects it very close- 
ly with the main Action. The Vintner and the other credi- 
tors are not Necessary to the Plot, but they are surely not 
Unnecessary to the Episode. Creditors of some de- 
scription, other than Tapwell and Froth, were absolutely 
Necessary, for an Episode devoted solely to paying off Tap- 
well and Froth in their own coin would have been absurd. 
Inasmuch as they get nothing, not a penny of the money 
supplied by Sir Giles, the Vintner and others were abso- 
lutely Necessary. Lady Downfallen and the Maids were 
Necessary to the purposes of Massinger. The Necessity of 
making Greedy a comedy character arose from the nature 
of the case and not from any demand of the Plot proper. 
The modern manager insists upon comedy at all hazards. 
It is a very reasonable demand from a business point of 
view. In this case the comic relief was Necessary. To 
have had both Marrall and Greedy sombre instruments of a 
cruel old cormorant would have made the play unneces- 
sarily disagreeable. But comedy which seems necessary 
from a business point of view must be made Necessary 
from a technical point of view. Greedy pays his way all the 
time, never disturbs the Action of the Plot, and aids the Ac- 
tion of the scenes. The tumult raised by the attempt to 



334 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

eject Wellborn was Necessary to bring on Lady All worth. 
If we go to all such little Causes and Effects we see the ne- 
cessities of the Technique. Certainly she could have enter- 
ed without having heard the noise of the quarrel. Thus 
throughout a play we must do things in a certain way, for 
technical reasons which are not inconsistent with nature. 



CHAPTER XXVIII. 



CHARACTER. 

You will observe that the only warrant for the existence 
of any character in a play is his employment in the Action 
with reference to what is desired to be accomplished. He 
does not exist in real life, consequently, his opinions on 
any subject not essential to the Action have no value. He 
is employed for certain functions, just as you employ ser- 
vants in a household. Characters in a play can only exist 
with reference to the Action, and Character can be brought 
out in no other way than by throwing people into given re- 
lations. Mere Character is nothing, pile it on as you may. 
A Character is subject to all the principles. Two charac- 
ters should not be employed for what one can do, for that 
would be a form of Disunity and opposed to the natural 
economy of the art. Unity has also to be observed in the 
conduct of the character itself. The larger details of char- 
acter are arrived at in the Plot, other details come with the 
part borne in the scene, and innumerable details are ef- 
fected incidentally, and brought out still further by the 
actor. Mere Character, then, is nothing. Real Character, 
of course, comes from your full knowledge of the Character 
you wish to portray; Technique will tell you only how to 
manage it. The Plot grows out of Character, but the Plot 
must be fixed before any use can be made of Character. 
This may sound paradoxical, and will be understood when 
you reach Constructive work, where you will also see how 
an author may often find it necessary to create a new 
character, after he has made some progress in the construc- 
tion of his play, in order to overcome some technical diffi- 
culty. "How am I to show that Parthenia is absolutely 
heart whole and fancy free?" must have asked himself the 
author of "Ingomar." "She must have a suitor, a per- 
son so repugnant as to leave no doubt in the matter, an 



33^ ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

old man, a miser, the character to be developed according- 
to the opportunities of the play." The author did not con- 
ceive Poly dor independent of the Action before he began 
the process of thinking out the play and its Action. You 
will see, then, that all Characters have their uses. Look into 
the play and see if you can find a useless Character. Per- 
haps you may, or one seemingly so. Ask him searchingly 
what he is doing there, and he will respond clearly. It is 
all right to have incidental Characters which belong rather 
to a scene or to some other Character. In the older days 
nearly every character had something to do with the Plot, — 
to too great a degree, — but the practice was sound enough 
for that kind of play. But he must have something to do 
with the Action, and so, Directly or Indirectly, belong to 
the Plot. The only time a character can do exactly as he 
pleases is during the period in which you are ruminating 
on your material, before you have fixed Plot and Scenes. 
When you get him to the scene he must confine himself to 
business, and he must talk and feel to the purpose on the lines 
already prescribed by the mechanism. And he will have plenty 
of freedom, and will do and say all that he wants to. 
He can do and say exactly as he pleases because 
the author has so arranged it. The conventional writer 
will select his characters according to "heavy," "low com- 
edy," &c. It is best to get them from your Material first; 
see if they exist in life first. Your material and purpose de- 
termine everything; such as the number required, although 
the changing demands of the hour may ask you to do things 
not absolutely required by the Material and real Plot, as, 
for instance, where formerly, many of our best plays had 
not more than two female characters, the managers now de- 
mand femininity in abundance. For the present, confine 
the exercise to finding out the functions of each character 
in the play, why introduced, &c. Remember that the au- 
thor, in each case, must have rejected dozens of characters, 
possible characters, in the same environment. Why did 
he select these and not others? 



CHARACTER 337 

The characters of a play as in "The Lady of Lyons" be- 
long either to the main Plot or are incidental to scenes that 
belong to the Plot or to the Action. The main characters 
are in mind all the time, whether present or absent. The 
servants at the inn belong only to the inn scenes, Gaspar 
only to one scene. The officers in the last act are there 
merely for the purposes of a scene or so. We expect noth- 
ing more from them. They have exercised their functions. 
They belong to the Action, not exactly to the Plot. And 
even the main characters of the Plot are not always plot- 
ting, but, in turn, may belong merely to the Action. This 
is the case in the jewel scene. Observe that the characters 
do not do as they please. They are governed by the conve- 
niences of the play, but are always made to act consistently 
with their characters and the circumstances. They are sub- 
ject to the laws of the drama just as much as they are to 
the laws of the land in real life. To note here the innumer- 
able little expressions of character is not feasible, but it may 
be pointed out that the conditions of the Action and the 
scenes alone make the particular character possible, and 
that it is never mere character for itself; that is impossible. 

For the present, we are studying Characters as they exist 
in the play and, as well as we may, the process by which 
they are created. We see that these Characters are needed 
and used for certain distinct purposes. The father of Pau- 
line is required only for certain scenes, and is very subor- 
dinate, for only at the close of the play does anything con- 
nected with the Plot demand him. Finally, his bankruptcy 
affords a turn in the Action. Glavis is needed technically 
for scenes of Dialogue with Beauseant, the Landlord for 
a specific purpose, and so the officers in the last act. All 
the characters are necessary either for the Plot or the Ac- 
tion. 

The process of the mind in providing the Characters of a 
p-lay is not alv/ays the same, but it is very much as de- 
scribed here or in other chapters. A not uncommon way is to 
have the Characters first and provide a Plot for them. This is 

22 



33§ ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

invariably the method of the empirics and conventionalists. 
Every play is not written in the same way, because the state 
of the material is not always the same. Your Material may 
furnish you the Characters, in the main, ready made. In 
that case, it will be some other element of the play that will 
require your invention. Whatever the methods, the result 
is always governed by Technique. It comes to the same 
thing. When the need of a particular Character will pre- 
sent itself to you depends upon circumstances. We must 
understand playwriting to determine. Thus, Nichette and 
Gustave probably came to Dumas after he had gone some 
distance in the collecting and the imagining of the Material 
for his play. They may have had their birth from various 
sources. We see the uses made of them, and analysis could 
undoubtedly trace the operations of the mind of the drama- 
tist. You would inevitably, in some of your conjectures, 
fix upon the point of their first conception. Perhaps it was 
the need of contrasting a happy marriage and undisturbed 
love with the hapless fate of Camille. The idea was general 
at first. No Gustave, no Nichette. Dumas could have had a 
happy marriage in her own particular set of careless roys- 
ters. But that would not do. The other woman must not 
participate in her life of pleasure. Make her a working 
girl. In what way shall they be brought together? Let 
Camille herself have been a working girl also. Perhaps the 
idea of having this a part of Camille's history had not oc- 
curred to Dumas before. Thus, in creating one Character 
another, even the principal one, has to be modified. It was 
not at once determined that the functions of these two new 
characters should be episodic only. That required reason- 
ing and analysis. The frivolous ones of Camille's set came 
first from the general necessities, from the philosophy and 
reasoning of the case. Camille and Armand were at hand 
from the beginning. The germinal idea of the play, the 
Proposition, which in this case came at once, required a 
sacrifice on the part of Camille. How was it to be brought 
about? Some powerful force was needed. The idea of the 



CHARACTER 339 

father had nothing to do with the contemplation of the 
theme at first. He was not necessary to the infatuation of 
Armand for Camille. What right had he to intrude on the 
author's mind before he was wanted? Prudence may have 
come from the technical necessity of having the stranger 
introduced and brought to her house. He was not of the 
set, not a reveller. After a character is obtained for one es- 
tential service, the author consults every other possible use 
to which he can put him. Prudence must not be a mere 
mechanical puppet. She must have some traits and charac- 
teristics which will give her individuality. The supper Epi- 
sode may have been decided on. Where can Prudence be 
used incidentally? At the supper, of course. Her greed, 
for food put her in that scene, her greed for money put her 
in the last act. The last act required that Camille be not 
wholly abandoned by her former companions. Some one 
was needed to minister to her as she lay dying. Shall it be 
Gustave? No; to use him would disturb the unity of im- 
pression desired as to him and Nichette. He could have 
been used, certainly. But it was not a matter of chance and 
capricious "imagination" with Dumas. He exercised his 
reason. Qastpji was light hearted and good of spirit, wit- 
ness his song, his grotesque dancing, his caprisoning him- 
self, in the original play, in a woman's bonnet. It is Gaston 
only that does this. Here we have contrast. It is delight- 
ful to find him so sympathetic and generous. He is also to 
lead a better life. Gustave was saved from the beginning. 
These Characters were not accidents, they served purposes 
of the Action. It was at Olimpe's that the scene of the 
fourth act was to be laid. There is use for them all. As 
said, Camille, Armand and Varville were the first born. 

There are books written on the characters in Shakespere. 
Years are wasted in this way in the study of a few plays at 
the Universities. That kind of analysis is not to the pur- 
pose in the study of technical principles. At the same time, 
if we wanted to go over the same ground covered by Tay- 
lor, we would have to know these characters or make a 



34° ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

study of them from life. Know; your Characters. Taylor 
got his from a novel by Bernard in French, but he adapted 
them to English realities. While it is distinctly a Character 
play, he evidently built it from the great scene in the second 
act. There was the strongest situation for bringing out the 
coolness, courage and sagacity of Mildmay. There was the 
climax of the proverb that "Still Waters Run Deep." For 
Taylor's purposes in the play the Characters had to have 
certain precise limitations. The slightest variation would 
have brought confusion into it. If Emily had been passion- 
ate and really in love with Hawksley, instead ' of being 
merely sentimental and silly, the Action would have taken 
a different turn entirely, and different things would have 
happened. We have already pointed out that Mrs. Stern- 
hold had to be the aunt and not the mother-in-law. If Pot- 
ter had been given more decision of character the present 
play would have been impossible. If Hawksley had not 
been such a consummate scoundrel in his attitude toward 
women in a moral sense the Action would have had to turn 
on the financial transactions exclusively, and it would 
have been difficult indeed to dislodge the attractive adven- 
turer from the admiration and confidence of the women. It 
would have been another play entirely. Sometimes we 
have to get a Plot for the Characters, and, again, we often 
have to make the Characters conform to the Plot. This lat- 
ter method was probably the case in the making of "Still 
Waters Run Deep." Corners had to be clipped off with the 
trowel to make the stones fit. Thus, while we should go to 
life for our Characters, mere life will no more serve in Char- 
acter than it will in Action. Five principal characters are 
sufficient for the complications necessary to carry the play 
through three acts. It is so domestic and personal that al- 
though there is a dinner party in it it is not needed to give 
glimpses of "society." The introduction of other characters 
even incidentally would have impaired the simplicity and 
force of the play, but the author and manager of the present 
day would be inclined to have the stage filled with "guests" 



CHARACTER 341 

in the last act. Stage management is so skillful nowadays 
that it could be done effectively too. It would not be better 
perhaps, but it would please some people. 

Endless essays could be written on the character 
of the characters in a play, and a good deal of 
the study of Shakespere in the Universities is 
wasted in this way. Of course the dramatist must 
make a certain study of his characters, and he may be- 
gin with abstractions, but finally it is the practical use he 
can make of certain traits in the characters. Drama is the 
reduction of the philosophy of life into concrete dramatic 
form, but in analyzing a play we need not concern ourselves 
largely with anything but the technical side of the charac- 
ters. How did Massinger create them? in what order? we 
can only conjecture, but there is little doubt that some of 
our footsteps will fall exactly in those of the author himself. 
Sir Giles was a living character known to Massinger. So 
was Justice Greedy. Indeed, all the characters are too 
natural to be mere products of the imagination. Sir Giles 
was to be the leading person in the play, a real play, not a 
mere play. To begin with, he was an unconscionable 
scoundrel, with two passions, money and the social ad- 
vancement of himself and family through his daughter. 
Greedy being the living tool of the living man, the two pro- 
totypes were at hand, and Margaret followed. Whom shall 
he direct his cruel and fraudulent practices against? Some 
one close to him, his nephew. We have Wellborn. He 
must be easily defrauded, else the play will be about a mo- 
ney transaction, and that is not the purpose of the play at 
all. This relative and victim must be reduced to the most 
abject want. He shall be a spendthrift; he must finally re- 
deem himself and regain the lands of which he has been de- 
prived, but the open struggle must not be over that parti- 
cular thing. Sir Giles must overreach himself, for it is the 
only way, without too much complication, to defeat him in 
a dramatic action of reasonable length and compactness. 
Wellborn cannot make a direct fight against this powerful 



34 2 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE; 

kinsman. Overreach must be duped; it can be done in no 
other way. We certainly cannot get him to restore the 
lands in any direct way ; all we can hope for is to have him 
give him money enough to re-establish himself in the world. 
He will not do that except with a selfish motive. What 
can it be ? Ah, he shall expect to rob somebody ; then Well- 
born will pretend to marry rich. This brings Lady All- 
worth out of the depths of Massinger's imagination. No 
thought so far of Lord Lovell, but when the attack is to be 
made on the side of the daughter, means must be found. A 
like deception must be practiced, for we cannot have dis- 
similar means used, or we will have difficulty in joining the 
Action. Lord Lovell being a necessity, the relations be- 
tween him and Lady Allworth came about naturally. In 
this way, some of the characters were born with the Propo- 
sition, others with the Plot, and others with the Action. 
Tapwell and Froth were needed only to emphasize the low- 
est depth of Wellborn's fall and humiliation. Amble and 
Furnace, Order and Watchall come into existence as the 
Action progressed. Characters once created, the dramatist 
makes as much use of them as may be needed, and for 
many purposes. We see that Furnace "feeds" Greedy his 
lines, as the expression goes among actors. Massinger pro- 
vides situations to draw out the characters. There is a 
good deal of description of Character, but everything is 
verified. Sir Giles is as distinct as a portrait by Rembrandt. 
He is in the Action or of it all the time. 



CHAPTER XXIX. 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES. 

Dialogue, is commonly said to be the easiest part of a 
play to write, and the uninformed writer can and does 
write yards of it to no purpose. But it is not Dialogue, it 
is conversation. The true dramatist might, on occasion, 
spend ten times the time on one-tenth of the space that 
the amateur writer does and he might have equal facility 
in "writing" Dialogue or thrice the facility. The dramatist 
prepares Plot, Sequences, Scenes, Action, everything pos- 
sible or practicable, before he thinks of writing Dialogue. 
Of course there is a certain freedom reserved in the matter 
of detail during the composition of it. It is made easy only 
by this means. But it is often difficult, as we shall see 
when we reach the actual doing of it. After a play is 
Divided into Acts and Scenes, it is the Dialogue that works 
out each scene. Thus, the Dialogue is confined to the 
business in hand. The distinctive mark of real Dialogue is 
that it is and must be responsive. It is give and take. If 
you have a difficulty or misunderstanding with any one 
it is a series of thrusts and parries, is it not? People in the 
drama are never at one — there is always a disagreement or 
some obstacle which requires discussion. Something is 
always in solution. The emotions are alive. The fact that 
a character might be talking with a deaf man does not 
disturb the principle, for the obstacle or misunderstanding 
would still exist. Never close a sentence so that the audi- 
ence will not understand or surmise what its completion 
should be. Merely dividing Dialogue into short sentences 
does not necessarily make the Dialogue dramatic. It is 
true that a manager, in glancing at a manuscript and see- 
ing that all the speeches are long, uniformly half a page or 
so, will at once know that the play lacks Action, is full of 
description and in every way undramatic. The old classic 



344 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

French dramatist could indulge in declamation, but they 
were masters of their art and kept up their Action. In a 
modern prose play it would be impossible. If you do "not 
know what to have the characters say to each other" it is 
because you have not made out Plot and Scenes before- 
hand. The only difficulty that could arise with a true dra- 
matist at this point would be as to how to make them 
say in the best way what is already prearranged. Dialogue 
depends upon the Action and the purpose of the scene; it 
does not stand alone. The characters cannot say what they 
want to — that is — it must be so arranged that they will 
want to say only certain things. If you get them into a 
position where they can say everything and anything, there 
comes your "easy-writing." There comes your "Oh! I 
have no difficulty in Dialogue!" See if you can find any 
Dialogue in the play which is not confined to the object of 
the scene. 

The Monologue is antiquated and the tendency wrong; 
the best writers do not use it at all. It is artificial, 
but not altogether contrary to dramatic principle. That is 
to say, the Action can be carried forward by means of it, 
but we get closer to nature by avoiding it. It is a pitfall 
for the beginner, for it is an easy refuge, a clumsy method, 
and the artistic necessity for it must be strong for a capa- 
ble playwright to use it. It is a short cut and should be 
shunned by the inexpert. The plays in this Course contain 
monologues, but we shall have some exercises to enable you 
to translate them into Dialogue and real Action. Many ex- 
ercises on each of the Principles are deferred necessarily, for 
you are not and will not be prepared for them until you have 
gone through considerable analytical study, whereupon the 
constructive work will begin. In the poetic drama mono- 
logue is more permissible than in modern prose, but you 
will observe that the Monologue there is not for the rela- 
tion of Story or for the mere information of the audience ; 
the amateur uses it to tell Story. The Aside is yet used in 
rapid farce but even there it can be avoided if proper Pre- 



DIAU>GUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 345 

paration has been made so that what is said and done is 
Self-explanatory, so that the Aside may usually be reduced 
to "Business." As, indeed, a wink to another, a glance, a 
significant movement unseen by the second character and 
the like, may be equivalent to an aside. To sum up the 
advice at this point, all monologues which merely tell Story, 
or asides for the same purpose, are to be avoided and are 
usually bad art. Read over the scenes then with reference 
solely to these points. 

The Dialogue of a play, or, better said, of a scene, is gov- 
erned by the object of the scene itself. You are not writing 
Plot when you are writing Dialogue. The scene stands be- 
tween you and that. The scenes have their responsibility 
to the Plot, and the Dialogue is directly responsible to its 
scene. The Plot is subject directly to the Proposition: Na- 
tion, State, County, District, &c. The Dialogue accom- 
plishes the purpose of the scene. It has many niceties and 
has large liberty in spite of the apparent narrow restriction. 
The Characters have their rights within these limits also, 
and there is plenty to look after in writing a scene. Refer 
to the Division into Scenes, and you will see that the main 
object of the first scene in "The Lady of Lyons" 
is to convey the Pride of Pauline, and under that 
we have a number of essential facts, the principal 
subordinate thing being that Pauline is destined by 
her mother to marry rank. A careful study of that chap- 
ter will make you realize the value and necessity of having 
distinct scenes. How could the scenes be distinct or carried 
out at all except by confining the Dialogue to the function 
of the scene? The progressive Action of the play puts the 
Characters in different relations with each other all the 
time, and that change of relation is going on and is affected 
all the time by the details of the Dialogue. Thus, the Dia- 
logue is governed by the circumstances, by the relations of 
the Characters at the moment and the specific object of the 
scene. Thus, the first scene with Beauseant involves Plot 
Action in its main object. He is to be rejected, much to his 



346 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

astonishment and indignation. The Dialogue is conducted 
with reference to this result, the state of mind of each Char- 
acter being held in view and expressed. He is confident; 
he tells of his fortune, that he is noble except for the recent 
loss of his title. She declines. He thinks it incredible and 
suggests that he call on M. Deschappelles. Then the moth- 
er interferes with her state of mind. His rejection is made 
more humiliating by her pretensions. Many points are in- 
troduced, and his rejection and indignation constitute the 
substance of the scene. 

The Dialogue of a scene is controlled by the object of 
that scene. Do you want a better example of that principle 
and method than the four speeches that compose the first 
scene in "Camille?" Varville is waiting for Camille who is 
out. That is all. Who Varville is ; where Camille has gone ; 
those and other details are not needed at this point and are 
not included in the object of the scene. A simple, single 
impression is produced. A child can understand it. Your 
amateur would "set them to talking," confident that they 
would write the play for him. What limits would you set 
to their talk if the scene had no definite object? Or would 
it be an object to have them tell everything. Would a 
hundred objects be the main object? Nichette appears. 
She is not writing the play ; she has no idea that the play is 
in progress; she does not come in in order to give Nanine 
and Varville occasion to talk about her. Why could not 
Nichette tell about her former comradeship with Camille 
in the shop? Who could better describe the goodness of 
Camille? Why could she not give full expression to her ad- 
miration, love and sympathy for Camille ? She is prevented 
from doing so by scores of things, by Sequence, by Prepara- 
tion, by Indirection, by Objectivity, by economies of va- 
rious kinds. She is the servant of the Scenario. She is ab- 
solutely free to say anything she chooses — within the limits 
of the objects of the scene. She is not deprived of a single 
right to free speech. She is not made a puppet by the law 
of the scenes. If she would and should have wished to say 



DIAIX)GU£, MONOUJGUES AND ASIDES 347 

more than she does there would be something wrong with 
the object of the scene. Nichette has five speeches. Just 
as a play is finally written from a Scenario we can imagine 
the following Scenario for this scene in a detailed Scenario 
including some of the notes which may have been prepared 
by Dumas: "Introduce Nichette: She must appear now in 
order to save explanation later on. The only immediate use 
that I can make of her in the Action is to have her appear- 
ance lead up to the third scene. Bring out the fact that 
she is a working girl, and that she is devoted to Camille. 
Have the occasion of her call insignificant to the extent of 
not having the audience expect any result from it. She will 
drop in as she was passing. I want to get her off as soon 
as the object of her scene is accomplished. For this pur- 
pose let Gustave be waiting for her. She is a working girl 
and comes for a bundle which Camille will have left for her, 
thus requiring the explanation. Give these Facts that pro- 
per Sequence and Dialogue it." Do you suppose that 
Dumas had the slightest inclination while framing the Dia- 
logue to wander into talk outside of the limit? We have 
shown that Nichette did not. The management of the Dia- 
logue illustrates dramatic method. Note how everything 
is evoked and is responsive. It has dramatic Indirection. 
Nichette thought Camille was in and apologizes. No, says 
Nanine, she is out. Do you wish to see her? She does not 
speak of the bundle right off, for that belongs to the later 
speech properly. Nichette's main idea was to see Camille 
as she was passing. Will you wait? No, Gustave is at the 
door. Cause and Effect right along. Did she leave the 
bundle? Yes. Going to carry it? Why not? it is not 
heavy. Again, logically and straight to the purpose of the 
scene as outlined. "Nothing is a trouble that I do for Ca- 
mille." It might have been possible to give it a somewhat 
different Sequence, but it is often an infinitesimal sense of 
touch. Note how the minor Action is kept up. Indirectly 
we see that Nichette is a person well known to Nanine, for 
she recognizes her voice before she comes on. Does she tell 



348 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Varville who Nichette is? Varville does not know, for he 
asks after she has gone off. It might have been natural 
that he ask before she enters. True, but there was no time, 
and purposely so. The audience wonders who Nichette is. 
Indirectly we learn a good deal about her before Nanine 
tells us. Your amateur would have delayed Nichette's en- 
trance in order to give Varville time to ask Nanine and 
have had her answer questions. The same facts would 
have been brought out but at the expense of the minor Ac- 
tion. Minor Action? Yes, constant vibration, things left 
in solution in a small way, things unanswered, for Nanine 
had to answer them for the audience as well as for Varville 
in the next scene. Who is Gustave? We wonder until 
Nanine tells us. You would have brought all that out in 
a second scene, eh? Why should it not have been brought 
out? Simply because it is not good playwriting. The scene 
needed these little touches of Minor Action for the intro- 
duction of Nichette at this point is largely technical, al- 
though perfectly natural, and care had to be taken to make 
it not only natural, but highly interesting. The mere pres- 
entation of Facts is very often Action, but there should be 
Minor Action along with it and animation. The third 
scene flows naturally from the talk about Nichette and 
leads up to the logical remark of Varville that "so thrives 
everybody's suit but mine." Everything serves its pur- 
pose; not a bit of the breeze is spilled from the sails. Ca- 
mille comes on. We get new Facts. Why could not Var- 
ville have said in the first of the third scene that he had ask- 
ed Camille a hundred times for her favor? The Scenario of 
the scene would have provided for the proof that Camille 
did not care for Varville, and incident to that would have 
been the details showing why she is annoyed. She never 
enters the house without finding him there. She would not 
have time to breakfast if she listened to such pleas from 
every man. Varville says she thought differently a year 
ago at Bagneres. Yes, but that was a year ago and Camille 
was sick and bored. Things have changed. This is Paris. 



dialogue:, monologues and asides 349 

He angered her by referring to DeMeuriac. She wastes no 
Words. "You are a fool." Something new all the time, 
minor Action, vibration. We need not take up every scene 
in order to prove that the Dialogue is written in strict ac- 
cordance with the Scenario previously determined, that the 
Dialogue is substantially provided for before a line of it is 
written. There are little details and turns which come to 
the writer, of course, as he writes. Naturally, the charac- 
ters are free within the law. They will help you, but not if 
you merely "set them to talking." Even within the limita- 
tions they may get it right or they may not. You may have 
to revise what they say. Note in the scene where Camille 
and Armand are left alone the minor things in the way of 
Cause and Effect that make the Dialogue flow easily and 
give progress to the scene. Armand remains behind when 
the others go out because he is solicitous about her illness. 
The Dialogue begins with it. Because of her illness he 
wishes that he had the right to save her from herself. "It is 
too late." "Why, what's the matter with you?" "You make 
me ill." "Don't be foolish, pray go into the next room and 
enjoy yourself with the others. See, they don't mind me." 
This Dialogue is constantly evoked, always responsive, al- 
ways proceeding by Cause and Effect, always with the main 
object of the scene in view. Armand has shown his love; 
now he expresses it passionately in words. "Are you seri- 
ous?" "Very." "Trust me." "For how long?" "Forever." 
"How long has this lasted?" "For two years." "How 
came it that you never told me of this before?" Here we 
have Dialogue in which we use every principle of the 
drama. It is very dramatic in every syllable. It is in the 
briefest sentences because there is vibration in every utter- 
ance and moment of it. There is constant change. It is 
progressive. At the end of the scene Armand has convinc- 
ed her of the sincerity of his love. She has doubted. She 
resists. She urges. The extent of the impression made on 
her is symbolized by the gift of the flowers. She holds out 
little promise and does not give her full consent to his love, 
"only remember me, now go." Note the Sequence. How 



350 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE) 

absurd it would have been if Armand had begun the inter- 
view by telling her that he has cherished for six months a 
little button which fell from her glove. The growth of the 
Action in this scene is admirable, the development of Ca- 
mille's emotions perfect art and true nature. "Ah, still you 
laugh." "Speak Armand. I am not laughing now." "Will 
you be loved?" "For how long?" "For eternity!" "Alas! 
my life may yet be happy — it cannot be long — and short as 
it may be — it may outlive your promise!" "Now who is 
melancholy." Dumas may have written this scene at a sit- 
ting, but never without a Scenario. The probabilities are 
that, even with a Scenario, he did not Dialogue it at a sit- 
ting. The play is an excellent play for the study of Dia- 
logue; but its strongest scenes are between two people in 
Dialogue. But it is not merely by means of Words that the 
strength of them was obtained. A substantial part is not 
alone in the structure of a scene but in the structure of the 
play itself. The reflex Action is strong. The compactness 
and the relations of the parts wonderful. If, for a moment, 
we now turn to what we may call Constructive Analysis, 
we will find at once that Dialogue cannot be treated inde- 
pendently of the scenes. In all these exercises we have 
tried to lead the application of the principles back to struc- 
ture, to impress the fact that the process is from the general 
to the particular, that the regular order is a development 
from Proposition to Plot, followed by the Action which is 
regulated by the scenes. A play cannot be constructed by 
means of Dialogue ; the Dialogue is simply the execution of 
the scenes. Constructively, then, we cannot consider it 
apart from the scenes. Again, if we turn to what we may 
call Destructive Analysis, we can only Destroy the value 
and purpose of the Dialogue with reference to the given 
scene. Wrong Sequence is the powerful destructive factor. 
That is to say, wrong Sequence in the order of the ideas in 
the scene itself. Of course, a wrong Sequence of the scenes 
with reference to the other scenes will destroy the value of 
the Dialogue, but the Sequence of the Scenes would have 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 35 1 

oeen determined before any Dialogue is undertaken. It is 
when we get to the Dialogue that the niceties of the art 
challenge us. The scene between Duval and Camille re- 
quired consummate art. All the Facts are familiar to us; 
we have seen everything in the Action as unfolded. There 
are new things, of course, such as the engagement of the 
daughter and the determination of the family of the man 
who is to marry her to break off the match if the relations 
between Camille and Armand continue. The scene is a ter- 
rible struggle. Full of emotion. Let us see some of the 
niceties. The moment that Duval introduces himself, to 
the consternation of Camille, we know what is coming in a 
general way. It is Self-Explanatory. First, the audience 
must be put at rest as to the possible appearance of Armand 
by way of interruption. We know that Armand is not 
there, that he has gone to Paris for the day, we are remind- 
ed of the fact at once to set us at ease. Camille does not 
wish to have any discussion with the father and she at once 
says that Armand is not there. Duval says he knows that. 
We immediately see, by Indirection, that his business is with 
her. By Indirection we see that the father understands the 
infatuation of his son and our interest is intense as to 
whether he can prevail over Camille. He begins with the 
reproach that she is ruining his son. Duval believes that 
his son is accepting maintenance from Camille. We know 
the circumstances. Camille resents his charge. The con- 
versation seems to be at an end, for she will not listen. By 
degrees the asperity of the father softens, and always with 
Cause. She makes proof of the fact that she has sacrificed 
her property for the sake of love. Duval could have begun 
his plea with the representation of the facts as to Armand's 
sister, his daughter ; but he brings this into play at the right 
moment. He could not have effectually used the argument 
before this point in the Dialogue. He ventures to do it 
only after he sees that she has a good heart, and is not a 
"dangerous woman." Dumas plays on all the emotions in- 
volved, bringing up new turns constantly. Camille con- 



352 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

sents to make the sacrifice in her own way. She is yielding 
inch by inch. She suggests that Armand may write to her 
after the daughter's marriage. Duval: "Thanks, my child, 
but I fear that you do not wholly understand me. I would 
ask more." "What more could I do?" "A temporary ab- 
sence would not suffice." "Ah, you would have me quit 
Armand forever?" "You must." "Never!" The conflict is 
renewed. She makes another appeal. She is sincere in say- 
ing that the shock would kill her. She begs. He represents 
to her the futility of her love. We know that she uses the 
very same arguments as to the stability of their happiness 
in trying to dissuade Armand in the earlier acts. We see 
the inevitable, as she does. She confesses that her punish- 
ment has come. Her dream is passed. Her resignation has 
begun in actuality. She has become a better woman from 
the moment and realizes that Armand's love was different 
from that which she had been used to. It is only at the last 
that she sees that it is for Armand's good that she must 
make 'the sacrifice. Then she suggests the difficulties in the 
way of accomplishing the sacrifice. This aspect is entirely 
new. It has come up by the general process of the struggle 
between them. It was no easy matter to Dialogue the 
scene, and it is not at all likely that it was done at one sit- 
ting. 

In order to make our analysis, we must first know the na- 
ture and function of Dialogue. We have seen that the Plot 
is a development of the Proposition, and that the Division 
into Acts and Scenes is a development of the Plot. We 
have seen that the structure is established before there is 
any occasion for Dialogue. To attempt to write a play 
without this structure, and without recognizing that Dia- 
logue is dependent upon this structure, and immediately 
subject to the object of the scene, would be folly. We have 
seen that the Dialogue in the opening scene of "Still Wa- 
ters Run Deep," conforms to the principle and methods 
just indicated. The scene is introductory and hard- 
ly touches anywhere upon the Plot of the play.. 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 353 

The Dialogue is full of Action in showing discord in 
the house, but it is only when Mrs. Mildmay makes her re- 
ference to Hawksley that the Plot begins to stir. It is plain 
that the author is not concerning himself about Plot so far 
as the audience is concerned. He was writing the scene, 
and not attempting to write the play at the same time. He 
had freed his mind of the danger of trying to do this or of 
accidentally writing unnecessary Dialogue, by having al- 
ready prepared the outline of his play. With the outlined 
Scenario, he might have elaborated it by making out a Sce- 
nario for each scene, Scenarios within a Scenario. The gen- 
eral notes which he had taken on his play now serve for use 
in the Scenario of the given scene. He knows what the 
Conditions Precedent are, and who the Characters are, what 
his play is to be about, and how everything is to be effected 
as to the general structure. The notes that might be pro- 
vided for this first scene, or the material that may be held 
in mental solution, might be voluminous. 

Many of those notes are general in their character, and 
not only available in one form or another for any particular 
part of a play, but, in the very nature of the case for all 
parts of a play. Of this kind are the notes on Character. 
Character and characteristics must be maintained through- 
out the play, and the relations of the people stable in some 
particulars, unstable in others, because of the progressive 
Action which is kept in mind all the while. In this very 
first scene we establish the relations of the people entirely 
and incidentally under the object of the scene. Without a 
Scenario of the scene, or a preconceived idea of what we are 
going to accomplish in the scene by means of details of Ac- 
tion and Character, one would not know how to set about 
writing a scene. It does not convey everything to say that 
the Dialogue carries out the object of the scene. We must 
come back to the similarity or identity of procedure of con- 
struction in the other parts of the play. We must regard 
the scene as a little play in itself, with its divisions, and 
usually with its distinct Proposition, which necessitates a 



354 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

Plot. Of course, not every scene is susceptible of being di- 
vided into minute parts corresponding to a play, but the 
similarity always exists. The Dialogue, then, is the devel- 
opment of the Action by means of, or the addition or ex- 
pression of, words. It must be practically all there before 
the words are used. 

We cannot make brick without its proper material, clay 
and straw, or whatever ingredients may be required! We 
do not begin a structure until all the materials are at hand. 
We do not stop work in order to send after materials which 
we suddenly find that we need, and then idly wait until the 
order is filled. In that case, one, in building a house, might 
have to wait for his structural iron for months. No, the 
material for this scene has already been gathered. In order 
to make these principles clear, we have had separate chapters 
on Material and Conditions Precedent. We now see how 
they came into practical use in "Still Waters Run Deep." 
By what means is the dissension in the family to 
be proved? How is Mrs. Sternhold to show her au- 
thority? In gathering his Material, and outlining 
his Plot, Taylor saw occasion for a dinner in the last 
act. This is Material which he could use for the purpose of 
showing Mrs. Sternhold's authority. A little incidental fact 
in his Material is that Mildmay and Emily have been mar- 
ried just one year. Mildmay would naturally want his wife 
to dine with him on the anniversary. This leads up to the 
assertion of Mrs. Sternhold's authority in announcing a 
dinner that she had already arranged without consulting 
Mildmay. Thus, the dinner is used in the first scene with- 
out the slightest apparent reference to the future Action of 
the play. The discussion and proof of Mrs. Sternhold's au- 
thority is made strictly with reference to this scene. Speci- 
fic Material is used, reflex Action is provided for, and noth- 
ing is lost. Herein we see the economy of playwriting. In 
our preparatory notes in the way of gathering Material, we 
have found the causes for Emily's distaste for her husband. 
She is young and romantic, and under the authority of her 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 355 

aunt. No better place to show it than in the first scene. 
We have the Material for it, and the scene is comparatively 
easy to write because of the existence of the Material. 
Many of the little points introduced into this first scene are 
purely incidental, and yet they have particular value be- 
cause the author has purposely weighed every particle of 
the Material which he is going to use. It is not an aimless 
point that the two have been married but one year, for if 
they had been married a number of years, then the cause of 
Emily's dislike might well be satiety, and the misunder- 
standing as to the character of Mildmay would either be ab- 
solute, or his development into self-assertion would not be 
easily accepted. The actuality would be that Mildmay was 
hopelessly stupid and mild, and that his wife was hopelessly 
perverse and romantic; consequently, it is clear that the 
points which we have indicated are specific Material. Emily 
has a distaste for her husband because he is prosaic enough 
to busy himself with the garden. That is Material. He 
likes one kind of music, and she likes another. That is Ma- 
terial. It would have been well nigh impossible for the au- 
thor to have invented all this Material while he was writing 
the Dialogue. He simply converted his Material into Dia- 
logue. He had to give Sequence to the Action whereby he 
introduced the points which he had already selected for use 
in this Dialogue. 

Our method in examining into and analyzing the Dialogue 
requires us to go back to work already performed in the 
construction of the play. The Scenario or arrangement into 
scenes has provided the structure. Up to this point there 
has been no need for words, except that the Scenario may 
have, on occasion, more or less complete parts of the Dia- 
logue sketched or noted down. What is to be said is in a 
large measure predestined and foreordained. When we 
reach the Dialogue we are not writing Dialogue in order to 
construct the play, for that part of the work has been done. 
It is true that, inasmuch as the material remains plastic un- 
til the end, something may arise in the Dialogue or relations 



356 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

between the people which may require a change in the 
structure, but that does not happen often enough to disturb 
us in carrying out the object of each scene as already deter- 
mined on. Care is to be taken that we do not attempt to 
write Plot as Plot while we are writing Dialogue. We are 
simply dialoguing a scene. We are carrying out by means of 
words the object of that scene, as it affects and effects Plot, 
and writing specifically for the purpose of the moment. Of 
course, the Dialogue has its bearing on the past and on the 
future, but its specific quality concerns the present moment. 
We now see the value of the Scenario or Division into 
Scenes. The object of the first scene in "A New Way to 
Pay Old Debts" is to show that Wellborn is 
friendless, and an outcast; that is the most general 
idea. Everything that is said is subordinate to it. We 
demonstrated that every idea in the first scene of "The 
Lady of Lyons" was subordinated to the general idea of 
vanity. We see exactly the same technical condition in the 
first scene of this play. Wellborn is friendless, and we 
thereupon see why he is friendless, and the Dialogue which 
sets this forth furnishes facts upon which the Action is bas- 
ed. But with reference to the scene they are plainly subor- 
dinate. In both cases occasion has been given for setting 
forth the facts. If the mere setting forth of the facts had 
been the main object in either case, we would have had an 
undramatic method, but with the occasion provided the 
facts are properly presented. It will be observed that 
everything that is said concerns the present moment. We 
have Wellborn and Tap well and Froth before us in certain 
relations, and what they say proceeds from that state of af- 
fairs and their state of mind. There is an immediate rea- 
son for them to say all that is said. The Dialogue is made 
up of the necessities of the situation. If this were not so, 
and if the author were presenting facts merely for his con- 
venience and not from the necessities of the relations of 
these people, the sense of immediate Action would at once 
depart from the scene. The recalling of the past history of 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 357 

the profligate is necessary not so much for our understand- 
ing of the Plot of the play as it is for the wrath of Well- 
born after the impudent underling and former tenant had 
expressed his insults. We really care less for the fact than 
we do for the effect it is having upon Wellborn, with whom 
we entirely sympathize, and hope that he will administer 
just punishment to the thankless creature. It would be al- 
most impossible for one to imagine the conversation taking 
a different turn; they are not discussing Sir Giles Over- 
reach with reference to his character, for it will be observ- 
ed that Wellborn pays no attention whatever to what is 
said about Sir Giles. That comes later. His feeling to- 
ward Sir Giles is expressed in the scene with Allworth. 
Here we have not a single expression from Wellborn as to 
his feeling toward his uncle. His sole resentment is against 
Tapwell, whom he has set up in business. Everything that 
he says in this Dialogue bears on Tapwell and increases our 
desire that the blows that we hope he will administer to 
him will not lack in force. Thus we see that the Dialogue 
of the first scene, while it conveys many facts that are ab- 
solutely essential to the foundation of the Action, bears 
upon the moment only. It matters not how important those 
facts may be, how significant the Dialogue may be about 
the subordinate things, it must concern the moment. The 
object of the scene is accomplished, Wellborn administers 
the blows to Tapwell. Of course they are important so far 
as results go toward rehabilitating him, and, in that way, 
finally demonstrate, at the very close of the scene, the ob- 
ject of the scene, which is to show that Wellborn is friend- 
less. The object of the scene summed up everything that 
had to be written in it and which now appears in it. The 
second scene simply demonstrates that Wellborn has a 
friend. Of course, there are many ideas and many objects 
in a scene, but the well ordered mind always finds in it the 
dominating idea. For example, how futile it would be to 
assign as the object of this scene that Allworth saves Tap- 
well from further punishment. That is certainly the imme- 



358 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

diate result of his appearance, but it has no significance as 
it relates to the Plot. Allworth tells Wellborn that they 
are not worth his anger. That is a fact, but it is purely su- 
bordinate. The main idea is that Wellborn, whom we have 
seen friendless has a friend. This friend is Allworth. We 
see it in his manner. We see the potentialities of such 
friendship in his dress. In fact, that he is Wellborn's friend 
— that Wellborn has a friend — is the most significant fact, 
and no more Dialogue is required than to set that forth. The 
details of that friendship require a separate scene. To com- 
plete the scene it is only required to get Tapwell and Froth 
off the stage. The object of the third scene is to show that 
Wellborn refuses aid from Allworth, and will retrieve his 
fortune in his own way. Obviously, this object has breadth 
and dimensions and requires considerable detail, and it is 
the business of the Dialogue to give it. It will be observed 
that everything that is talked about in this scene is subor- 
dinate to the purpose already indicated. He will not accept 
aid from Allworth because he lived at the devotion of a 
stepmother and the uncertain favor of a Lord. We learn 
who his stepmother is and that Allworth is in the army 
serving under a noble commander. These are the details 
necessary to the elucidation of the Proposition of our scene. 
It is true that Wellborn's counsel to Allworth in regard to 
his love for Sir Giles's daughter does not seem to have any 
bearing on the reason why he refuses aid from Allworth. 
But examine it closely and you will find that his state of 
feeling toward the father of the girl that Allworth loves ex- 
plains the reason why he intends to retrieve his own for- 
tunes in his own way. The fact that Sir Giles has ruined 
Allworth's father, too, who was Wellborn's friend is com- 
plementary to his own spirit of revenge and his resolve to 
redeem himself, which is prompted by the abject state of 
humiliation which he just experienced at the hands of an 
ungrateful old tenant, and which has been witnessed by 
Allworth and by us. It would seem that Wellborn's state- 
ment that Sir Giles would never consent to the marriage 



DIALOGUE, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 359 

between Margaret and Allworth is not to the purpose of 
the scene as given, but it is. He does not tell of Sir Giles's 
ambition for his daughter simply for the information of the 
audience, but by way of counsel to his friend. Then again, 
it leads back at the end of the scene to Allworth's renewed 
offer to help. It also establishes in our minds confidence in 
Wellborn's resolution, and gives us certain facts which lead 
us to hope for the success of his plan, which is purposely 
left indefinite as to detail, one which inspires us with hope 
from the very facts brought out in the Dialogue. The open- 
ing scene of the second set scene is to show the opulence of 
Lady Allworth and the character of the servants. The 
scene is purely introductory, so far as we can see it has no 
bearing on the plot. That is to say, we cannot see what 
can come from their overfed and pampered impudence, but 
it is introductory and preparatory and a part of the Action. 
It may be that there is some Action in the apprehension of 
the audience as to what will be the reception of Wellborn 
when he presents himself. But strictly speaking, this 
would be an afterthought for we have no direct information 
that Wellborn is to visit Lady Allworth at all. It is true 
that Tom Allworth has assured Wellborn that he would 
meet from her a liberal entertainment, but Wellborn has 
not given us any intimation of his plan, which as it turns 
out involves this very visit. These characters, whatever 
may be their personal designs and plans, are utterly uncon- 
scious of any Plot, as, indeed, no characters can by any 
possibility concern themselves in the technical Plot of a 
play. It is also always the case with preparatory and intro- 
ductory scenes with apparently unimportant characters, 
that these characters and the scene itself are made con- 
spicuously interesting. The important point here was to 
lay the foundation for future Action. The use of it all we 
see later on, and for the moment we are entertained by the 
servants, and are put in possession of certain fundamental 
facts. Occasion is provided for these facts, the immediate 



360 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

object is not the facts, a mistake which can easily be made, 
but to enforce the general idea, the largest idea, which is 
the state in which Lady Allworth lives. Everything else 
is subordinate to that. We even get information about Jus- 
tice Greedy in this little scene, but what significance does 
the reference to him have, except as it shows the discontent 
of the servants at the idleness under wages, while their mis- 
tress has retired from the world and no longer entertains? 
A great deal is brought out in this scene, but it is all subor- 
dinate to the object as given. The next scene is the cordial 
reception of young Allworth. It is short and all that is said 
is entirely natural, and merely by way of gradation. Order 
remarks he is his father's picture in little. Allworth thanks 
him. Scene third is simply a characteristic introductory 
scene of Lady Allworth and her maids. The fourth scene 
is one of some length and of serious purpose. It is concern- 
ed with the Plot. Up to this point we have had no reflex 
Action, but now that Lady Allworth warns her stepson 
against association with Wellborn, we immediately connect 
the Action with the fortunes of the outcast in whom we 
have begun to take an interest, and of whose resolution to 
redeem himself we have had a glimpse. We first saw him 
friendless, then saw him with a friend, and now we see him 
deprived of this friend. The Dialogue is of some length, 
but it strictly carries out the object of the scene. We 
get the reasons why she warns Allworth to beware of ill 
company. She admits that Wellborn had been a friend of 
her husband whose memory she reveres, that if he had lived 
to have known him as he is, he too would have cast him off 
"as you must do." It should be a part of our pleasure to 
realize that we are now dealing with the work of a master. 
Among the many objects of this scene, with its many minor 
objects we have Lady Allworth's reverence for the memory 
of her husband and her own nobility of character. But as 
strongly as they are presented, is it not plain to you that 
they are subordinate to the object of the scene, which is to 



DIAU)GU3, MONOLOGUES AND ASIDES 36 1 

warn Allworth against association with Wellborn? The 
scene which introduces Sir Giles and Greedy is one of con- 
venience only, and, as in the case of scenes already 
pointed out which have no apparent bearing on the Plot, it 
is made vastly entertaining. Now that the author has in- 
troduced Sir Giles, we see his technical purpose in having 
him meet Wellborn whom he spurns. By following out the 
division into scenes, which we have already prepared, we 
see that the Dialogue simply executes the object of each 
scene. The two most important scenes in the Act are those 
in which we are first prepared to expect that Lady Allworth 
would refuse assistance or countenance of any kind to 
Wellborn, when she warns Allworth against him, and a 
subsequent scene in which Wellborn prevails over her, and 
gains her confidence and promise of assistance. Surely in 
each of these important scenes there is ample opportunity 
for Dialogue which need not have been worked out in de- 
tail until the structure of the play has been completed. 
Surely, when we reach the eleventh scene, in which Well- 
born prevails over Lady Allworth, there is enough to en- 
gage Dialogue. Surely Wellborn cannot prevail over her 
in a few words. Surely he will have to exercise diplomacy, 
surely he must urge facts and arguments of sufficient 
weight to move a woman of such force of character. To 
carry out the objects of such important scenes requires De- 
tail and Dialogue. Surely the dramatist had enough to do 
to conduct his Dialogue without attempting to construct 
the play in all its parts at the same time. No, he is Dia- 
loguing his Scenario. He is giving us the details of the pre- 
ordained scenes. Inasmuch as the scenes have determined, 
in a general way, what is to be said by the characters in 
the scenes, it would be wholly unprofitable to us to ima- 
gine what they should not say, except by way of exercise. 
If limitations had not been put to what they should say, we 
would have to struggle constantly against circumstances 
and ideas not already determined, but our particular care 



362 ANALYSIS OF* DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

with reference to Sequence now in writing the Dialogue is 
as to Sequence within the scene. We ask you to establish 
your understanding of the method of Dialoguing that 
which has already been predetermined; to have you accept 
as an absolute truth that the Dialogue must be confined to 
the object of the scene. 



CHAPTER XXX. 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS. 

The beginner often says with naive confidence : "I can do 
everything else, but I do not know how to get the Charac- 
ters on and off." If your Plot and Scenes are properly 
ordered, if you really have "done everything else," you will 
not be in such straits in the matter. Note the Entrances 
and Exits of the Characters in "Ingomar," particularly with 
reference to their technical management. See if you can 
observe any peculiarities about them ; note the care the au- 
thor takes to give the characters, in many cases, something 
pertinent to do. Do you not yourself, in leaving a room, 
feel a certain necessity of timing your last word of depar- 
ture? See how the author provides for the matter in detail, 
generally making the Entrance or Exit characteristic, util- 
izing it for a point of some kind. Parthenia's Entrance 
after it is made known that Myron, her father, has been 
made captive, is provided for by the announcement first to 
the mother, who is carried into the house in a swoon. Does 
not Parthenia's rushing out, exclaiming, "Where is the man 
who brings this fearful news?" explain itself? Does not 
getting the mother off give Parthenia a particularly good 
Entrance? She bursts on in the highest state of emotion. 
Do you not see the technical reason for the management of 
this and other Entrances? Do you not suppose that it was 
all reasoned out by the author? Or did he put it all down 
as he first fancied it? Letting the people do as they please? 
You will observe that Polydor's house is opposite Myron's, 
affording easy occasion for some of the Entrances and 
Exits. If you understand the plastic nature of dramatic 
art, that is, changing and perfecting in order to meet points 
as they arise, you will have no great trouble about En- 
trances beyond what common sense, with the resources of 
your art, will meet if you have properly arranged the Plot and 



364 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

the structure generally in the Action. In regard to the stage 
itself, with its stage directions of R. ; L. ; R. U. E.; D. F. 
(door in Flat) ; R. I. E. ; &c. ; &c. ; &c. ; it may be said that 
there is nothing more delusive to the beginner than the im- 
portance he attaches to such "knowledge." For the pres- 
ent, do not concern yourself about it particularly. Many 
acting editions of plays have Scene-Plots and Diagrams. 
You can get all the misleading and almost superfluous jar- 
gon from them. First get acquainted with the human, dra- 
matic point of view; the other, the stage point of view, 
will come to you soon enough. Of course, you should 
know the terms and the limitations of the stage, but these 
particular details belong more properly to stage manage- 
ment than to authorship. It is enough that you make sure 
that what you have the characters do is possible for them 
to do on the stage. The stage is no longer bare and ma- 
nipulated by means of obvious wings, borders, flies, drops, 
and shifted Scenes in numbered grooves a few feet apart ac- 
cording to the depth of the stage, with correspondingly 
numbered Entrances between. Of course, a point of En- 
trance may be indicated, but the stage manager, as is his 
right as a rule, will change it all as he sees fit. He may 
have an entirely different room in arrangement from yours. 
The Action of the play, what your people do and say after 
they get on the stage is what should concern you in the 
early stages of acquiring the art. Naturally, you must have 
a clear and consistent movement in your mind and positions 
for your people while writing the play, but let that take care 
of itself until you are unfortunately compelled by close as- 
sociation with the stage to know all about "raking pieces," 
"backing," "profile trees," (whereas your mind should scorn 
anything short of a real tree while writing), "boxed inte- 
riors," &c, &c. Describe your Scenery, if you choose, and 
the Entrances, R. and L., &c, up stage, down stage, &c, if 
you will, but do not try to deceive yourself or any one else 
by a display of stage knowledge, the pedantry of ignorance, 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 365 

the real knowledge itself of the stage being a poor thing 
at best compared with playwriting itself. 

The Entrances and Exits in "The Lady of Lyons" were 
provided or revised by Macready, one of the greatest stage- 
managers ever known, and are consequently worth close 
observation. Attention has already been called to the En- 
trance of Beauseant at the cottage and the various En- 
trances and Exits of the Widow, and the use made gen- 
erally of the stairway. Observe that a few lines are usually 
given to one of the characters after the announcement of 
some one to enter and before that Entrance. Damas enters 
to his cousins without announcement. Beauseant makes 
his first Exit with, "Ladies, I have the honor of wishing you 
a very good morning." You may be sure that he was near 
the door, or possibly the actor may wish the business of 
uttering his aside, gradually nearing the door. Or he 
may wish to sail out from a distance ; a woman likes that. 
Note Pauline's Exit after coming back for the flowers. Da- 
mas exits with an epigram. Beauseant enters the inn after 
we have heard him giving directions behind the scenes as to 
baiting the horses. The Landlord enters naturally from the 
Inn. Beauseant Exits with something definite, "You think 
only of the sport, — I of the revenge." Gaspar exits with a 
passionate expression relating to his experience. The epi- 
grammatic for an Exit is very noticeable naturally in a 
work revised by a stagemanager. The Entrances and Exits 
are usually Self-explanatory, as when Damas enters with 
two swords. The Exits and "curtains" for the principals 
are forceful. Note the first Entrance of Melnotte. Pauline also 
is generally provided with a good Entrance. She is discov- 
ered in the last act, but the Business is good. In what 
scenes the Characters are to Exit and Enter is determined 
gradually as the structure of the play is framed. Finally, 
the Scenario makes all this definite. These characters do 
not come and go as they will, but as the structure and tech- 
nique demand. 

Before we begin "writing" a play we have determined 



366 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

upon the Entrances and Exits, which depend upon the ar- 
rangement of the Scenes as shaped in the Scenario. Char- 
acters cannot come and go as they please or as often as they 
may choose. Their functions have been determined by and 
are controlled by the prearranged Plot, the order of the 
scenes and the object of the scenes. To have Varville dis- 
covered is not the only way in which he could have been in- 
troduced, but it was the best way. It was necessary to 
show first that Varville was a persistent suitor and that Ca- 
mille did not care for him, and that her heart was free. It 
was necessary to introduce Nichette at this point in order 
to clear the ground and lay the foundation for a material 
part of the Action. It was proper to give her some Cause 
for coming, the little bundle, and a cause for her going, that 
Gustave was waiting for her. There is obviously no Plot 
in this so far as Nichette is concerned. Why she is intro- 
duced is more important than the manner of her Entrance 
and Exit, which could have been accomplished in other 
ways, but hardly in a better way. In the Dialogue shortly 
before Camille enters we learn that she is at the Opera, and 
she enters with her cloak, which she throws aside; she 
comes on hurriedly and orders supper, which takes Nanine 
off. She orders supper because she expects friends whom 
she has met. Nanine ushers in the expected Olimpe and 
Gaston. Armand and Prudence enter because called for, 
and admitted by Nanine. Varville's exit is effected capital- 
ly, for Camille does not invite him to remain. The guests 
are off and Camille is left alone with Armand because Ca- 
mille asks to be left alone and Olimpe urges that she is bet- 
ter alone when she has these attacks. Now, all this did not 
happen by accident. Natural as it all is, it is art that makes 
it so. The scene between Camille and Armand was abso- 
lutely essential ; it had to be, and Dumas contrived the way 
of getting the guests off by the use of means existent in the 
material and the circumstances. That Armand remained 
with her is Self-explanatory. It is not her trick to be alone 
with Armand, for she says, "Monsieur Duval, and you, Gas- 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 367 

ton, step into the other room, and before you have your ci- 
gars lit I will be with you." Armand exits when the Dia- 
logue has reached the point desired by the dramatist and 
when Camille gives him the flower and says, "now go." The 
re-entrance of the frivolous guests is accomplished by a 
dance. There is nothing tame in the resources of true art. 
In the second act Nanine and Prudence are discovered. 
Prudence, no doubt, with her bonnet on, at once indicating 
a visit of some sort; Camille enters, and we at once learn 
the nature of the business; Nanine goes off to answer the 
bell ; Armand, whom we are half expecting at that moment, 
enters, and Prudence goes off, partly because she has 
her money and partly because she knows that she is in the 
way, her exit being accomplished by her speech, which is 
based partly on the fact that Armand did not notice her at 
first. The object of the Dialogue between Armand and Ca- 
mille effected, Armand leaves, promising to breakfast with 
her. Camille's short monologue gives time for the entrance 
of Varville, in itself natural, and has a particular cause 
back of it in the note which Camille has received from 
him. Nanine's entrances and exits are matters of course. 
Camille goes with Varville for supper. Nanine's little 
monologue, as she reads Armand's note to Camille, is need- 
ed for time and for the entrance of Prudence. Her en- 
trance is directly connected with the letter and Armand's 
presence at her house wishing to see Camille. Camille's re- 
entrance is provided for by the need of a heavier wrap, not 
to speak of the more significant agitation of her mind. Na- 
nine is sent off to dismiss Varville. Prudence goes to sum- 
mon Armand. Observe that what she says as she goes out 
is characteristic, and has reference to the matter in hand. 
Armand's entrance is expected and natural. At the begin- 
ning of the third act, Prudence enters, asking for Camille. 
Nanine exits after answering her questions, saying that 
Nichette and Gustave are in the garden and that Camille is 
with them. Camille enters, asks a question relative to the 
papers (for the sale of her articles). The information was a 



368 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

material something for the advancement of the Action ; and 
Prudence goes off with her characteristic appetite "to din- 
ner, for I am dying of hunger." Any stage direction on the 
manner of her Exit is needless. Gustave and Nichette en- 
ter naturally ; we have been told that they are spending the 
day with Camille. They are got off by the announcement 
of the man "in charge of the sale" : "So walk in the garden, 
you and Gustave. He will soon be gone, and I will join 
you." Armand's father, Duval enters, to our surprise, but 
naturally. He prevails with her, and Exits with "Heaven 
bless you for the sacrifice." After she completes her letter 
for Armand he enters. We know from Nanine in the first 
scene that he has been in Paris, and we now know that he 
has just returned. The Dialogue concerns the letter which 
she does not let him see, and she departs bidding him her 
veiled farewell. She leaves him to wait until his father 
comes. Natural Entrances and Exits rapidly bring the act 
to a close. In the opening of the fourth act, after the dance, 
Armand enters. It is a neat touch that he was supposed to 
be at Tours, and consequently not expected, for, later on, 
his presence is a surprise to Camille. The fact that he is 
there unexpectedly leads to the Dialogue between him and 
Prudence. She tells him that Camille will be there, and we 
get at his state of mind. Gustave is present, and a scene 
follows between the two men. Camille and Varville enter 
just from the Opera. This confirms what Prudence has 
said as to her revelry at the expense of her health. In addi- 
tion, she enters at the proper moment in the development of 
the Action. They all remain on the stage in a composite 
scene until Armand wins the game, when Camille is left 
with Varville. She gets him off with the plea that she 
would speak to Prudence. Prudence is sent off to bring 
Armand. Armand comes by reason of the message. When 
she confesses, in order to be true to her sacrifice, that she 
loves Varville, Armand throws open the supper-room door, 
and bids all enter, the succeeding Action ending with a 
tableau. The Entrances and Exits in the concluding act are 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 369 

natural and simple, requiring no comment except as to the 
lines at Entrance and Exit. Nanine enters naturally as Ca- 
naille's maid. Gaston goes out to get his coat which he has 
left in the entry, bidding Nanine to get Camille up. He re- 
turns with a cheering word, and finally, after his talk with 
Camille, who begs him to remember all that she has said, 
goes out with: "It shall lie upon my heart like a prayer." 
Nanine does not like to go out when Prudence enters, but 
does so at Camille's assurance. Prudence comes with the 
purpose of borrowing money and goes out when she gets 
it, gently bidden to go by Camille, and with the remark that 
she has some purchase to make, and that she is so sleepy 
that she can hardly keep her eyes open. Camille says to 
herself, "and that was one of my friends." Armand's en- 
trance is remotely prepared for by the letter which Camille 
reads from his father, and directly prepared for by 
Nanine's breathless and half expressed announcement. Ni- 
chette, Gustave and Gaston enter naturally ; and it is to be 
remembered that Nanine had carried a letter to Nichette to 
be given to Nichette after the ceremony of her marriage. 

The tendency toward economy, which we found so mark- 
ed as to Words, extends to all parts of the drama, and with 
particular force to Exits and Entrances. We have seen that 
an important Exit or Entrance usually begins or ends a 
scene. If we permitted Characters to come and go with too 
much frequency a point would be reached where the Ac- 
tion would become unintelligible. As an experienced dra- 
matist, Taylor probably gave no consideration to any other 
opening to "Still Water Runs Deep" than the present first 
scene. In the first place, the play is a domestic one, and 
the first scene, having the four members of the family in 
the drawing room, afforded him the opportunity of charac- 
terizing them and their relations and setting forth the con- 
ditions from which the Action was to proceed. An inexpert 
"dramatist" might have used a number of scenes with their 
Exits and Entrances for the same purpose. These Exits and 
Entrances are not left to chance. There is a process of rea- 
24 



370 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

soning about them as imperative as is the process of form- 
ing the Plot or attending to any part of the structure or 
any of the details of the play. I have called attention to the 
fact somewhere, that this first scene, ending with the Exit 
of Mildmay, has three incidents in it which might afford a 
division into three scenes. If, indeed, the purposes of the 
author had been different from what they are, it would be 
necessary to make three scenes of the first scene, although 
both Mildmay and Potter remain on the stage and do not 
Exit. Mildmay was made to simulate sleep by the 
author in order that he should overhear what Mrs. Sternhold 
says to Emily about him. Potter was kept on the stage, 
really dozing, in order to make the third scene, that be- 
tween Mrs. Sternhold and Potter, more convenient. Thus 
Exits and Entrances are provided against. The inexperienc- 
ed writer could not conceive of the annoyance and damage 
caused by the too frequent coming and going of Characters. 
Mildmay having been kept on the stage for a purpose must 
have an Exit provided for him. It would have been easy 
enough to have had Mildmay drowsily rub his eye and 
make his Exit with some remark. The tendency of 
the author who understands his business is to utilize every 
part of his Material. In this case he had Mildmay awaken- 
ed by Emily in bringing down her knotted handkerchief on 
his face to drive away the wasp. This is purely Episodical, 
still, it keeps pace with the Action. It shows the impa- 
tience of the wife who has lost that reverent feeling that 
every wife should have for a true husband. But what is 
shown of her momentary disposition is purely incidental. 
The bit of Business was devised almost purely and simply 
in order to afford Mildmay his Exit. It works well, too, for 
it brings out the relations between the two, and it makes 
more natural his statement that he is going to Manchester 
that night. Observe how every word counts. Emily ex- 
claims that he has never said a word about it until now; 
still keeping their relations in play. When Mildmay says 
that he will see her again before he starts, we have a prepa- 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 371 

ration for his Entrance later on without explanation. You 
will note also that he goes into the conservatory. He is in 
no apparent haste for his journey. Some students, in ana- 
lyzing this scene, imagine that they see the purpose for 
which he is going to Manchester. Not a bit of it. The only 
impression that an audience could have would be that he 
may have business of some indefinite kind at Manchester, 
and was glad to get away because of being bored at home. 
Something that drives many a man from home, the most 
natural thing in the world. If any great importance had 
been attached at this point to his going to Manchester, the 
incident would be out of proportion. You will observe 
that the author knew his business purposes better than 
the audience, or rather where the audience did not, for one 
of his purposes in sending Mildmay into the conservatory 
was to have him seen there by Emily "with his coat off, 
just like a common market gardener. Oh, what a contrast 
to Hawksley!" Potter having been retained on the scene, 
but taking no part in what happens and what practically 
constitutes other scenes, is awakened by his sister. An en- 
trance is saved. The object of the scene being accomplish- 
ed, Potter goes out with a characteristic remark showing 
how he bows to "such a superior woman." The first En- 
trance seen by the audience is that of Hawksley who fol- 
lows Emily in. We have had some concealed Preparation 
for what we now see. The specific Preparation for Hawks- 
ley's conduct consists in Emily's sentimental comparison of 
Hawksley with her husband and what is talked about be- 
tween Mrs. Sternhold and Potter. The very moment he en- 
ters we know who he is. Jessop's entering with the carpet 
bag does not make a new scene of it, for it is a part of this 
scene to have the audience know that Mildmay is in the 
garden, and, more than that, to bring the fact to Hawksley's 
attention that Mildmay is going away that night, which ob- 
viates the necessity of having Emily inform Hawksley of it 
in "Story" fashion. It also provides the Exit for Emily and 
Hawksley as may be seen in Hawksley's lines "at least let 



372 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

us walk around by the garden, I wish to congratulate Mild- 
may on his celery — and then it is so much longer." Now, it 
might seem to the writer who does not believe that play- 
writing is an art, that these Exits and this particular Exit 
came into the author's mind as naturally as they read. On 
the contrary, although Taylor may have provided for this 
scene and its Sequence in his Scenario, he may not have de- 
termined upon the method of getting Emily and Hawksley 
off. He could have sent them off by some other door. It 
is easy enough merely to get characters off, but a mere 
Exit or a mere Entrance is nothing. If it is not done with 
art, the Entrances and Exits are simply a series of jolts. If 
he had sent them out by some other door the effect would 
not have been the same. The reappearance and Exit of 
Mrs. Sternhold is sufficiently clear. Mildmay's Entrance, 
followed by Joseph with carpet bag, through center door of 
conservatory is natural. When it comes to weighing all the 
little equations of the play, one is inclined to think that 
there is more artifice than art in having Mildmay come in 
prepared for his journey and to decide, because he has 
half an hour to spare, that he will paint the trellis. He 
sends Jessop for the ladder and begins to paint. Of course, 
Taylor's object was to have Mildmay overhear the conver- 
sation between Potter and Hawksley, and incidentally to 
prepare for the scene which follows when Mrs. Sternhold 
and Emily join them. While the artifice in having him 
paint the trellis seems a little crude, Taylor does make one 
very strong point in making it the occasion for Hawksley's 
"playing postman." The entrance of Mrs. Sternhold and 
Emily is natural, for they have the freedom of the house. 
Hawksley takes himself off in his affable way. We see 
through his politeness and know that he will return. Mrs. 
Sternhold is got off the stage because technical require- 
ments demand her absence. We know that she will return 
to watch Hawksley. The frequency of the Entrances and 
Exits in this first act almost reaches a danger point; still, 
they are largely technical and unimportant except in that 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 373 

way. It is necessary for Jessop to enter in order to an- 
nounce that the cab is at the door, so that we can have a 
little scene between Mildmay and his wife, she showing her 
uneasiness at his departure. Potter has been kept on the 
stage and occupied sufficiently to have him ready for the 
scene with Mildmay in which Hawksley's shares are dis- 
cussed. Potter goes out with a characteristic remark aside. 
Mildmay makes his Exit in order to see Gimlet, for he has 
read the letter delivered by Hawksley. In this case, he 
goes out with a purpose. It is not necessary to have Char- 
acters always go out with a purpose. Of course, there is a 
purpose somewhere always, but it is just as often the pur- 
pose of the author, that is to say, of Technique as it is of 
Character. The purpose of the author always exists. 
Emily's purpose in returning is to comfort Hawksley, 
and, in her feeble way, if he comes, to dissuade him from his 
pursuit. She is forced to leave by her Aunt, and then 
Mrs. Sternhold thinks she hears some one "stirring over- 
head," and Exits with "let me see if all is quiet up stairs — 
then for you." This is plainly artificial; perhaps the Exit 
might have had a better occasion, but it is sufficient now to 
call attention to the technical feature of its handling. There 
seems to be an unnecessary kind of Detail in the scene con- 
sisting of Mildmay's monologue when he re-enters, still, 
Taylor has purpose in every line. There are some points in 
the management of the Action here that belong to other 
parts of our study ; we are now considering merely how and 
why the Entrances and Exits are provided. We have been 
thoroughly prepared for the scene between Mrs. Sternhold 
and Hawksley. Mrs. Sternhold's absence from the stage 
was necessary, for one thing, to have her assure us when 
she returned that "all is quiet, my brother and the servants 
asleep." The manner of Hawksley's Exit, with his usual 
composure and affability, need not have been planned in ad- 
vance. It is entirely in character. An Exit is provided for 
Mrs. Sternhold in the next scene, and one for Emily in the 
following one. Mildmay has overheard the scene between 



374 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Hawksley and Mrs. Sternhold, his Entrance and remarks 
explaining themselves. Mrs. Mildmay is afforded a re- 
entrance, not from what has gone before and what would 
give her a purpose at once recognizable by the audience, but 
in the line which she speaks. She is going to her own room 
in order to get some ether to compose the agitated Mrs. 
Sternhold. The act closes according to the requirements of 
this scene, Mildmay going up stage and Emily sinking into 
a chair and clasping her hands. Mildmay is going off, and 
the curtain comes down on a tableau. 

Just as we have seen that Dialogue is a matter of detail 
in execution, depending upon the object of the scene which 
has already been brought into Sequence, so you will find 
that an Exit or Entrance is also a detail of the scene and 
governed by its opportunities. The Exits and Entrances 
having been foreordained we have only to examine into the 
details of the Exits and Entrances in "A New Way to 
Pay Old Debts" in order to note the active use of 
Technique in them. To have a character discovered is 
practically the same thing as an entrance. Naturally, a 
character that is discovered is usually occupied with some 
business. We discover Wellborn with a large rough stick, 
in tattered apparel knocking at the alehouse door, Tapwell 
and Froth enter from the house. He asks them for liquor 
and is refused credit. Thereafter the scene is conducted ac- 
cording to the dialogue already described until Wellborn 
beats Tapwell and Allworth enters. The entrance of All- 
worth requires no explanation because it is a public place. 
Why he enters at this point has already been determined by 
the dramatist in his structure of the play. The occasion for 
the going off of Tapwell and Froth is natural, for their part 
in the scene is over. Wellborn and Allworth exeunt when the 
purpose of their scene has been accomplished, Allworth, 
L., Wellborn, R. There is no difficulty and no particular 
ingenuity required in getting people on and off so far. All- 
worth and Wellborn go off in different directions. In the 
second set scene, the servants are discovered in line across 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 375 

the stage taking their orders from Order. The scene is 
broken up by the knocking at the door and the entrance of 
Allworth. Lady Allworth enters with her maids. The 
maids go out on her direction to them to sort the silks well. 
They have simply served the purpose of showing the ample 
service at her disposal. The other servants go out at Lady 
Allworth's command. Lady Allworth and her stepson go 
out naturally together, although the subject of their conver- 
sation has been practically brought to an end. The ser- 
vants enter again with Sir Giles Overreach, Marrall and 
Greedy. Wellborn enters. His coming has been tacitly 
prepared for. It may be observed that the presence of the 
servants on the stage may explain why this tattered man 
has found unobstructed entrance, but, in any event, his 
coming requires no explanation and is perfectly natural. All 
the Exits and Entrances here are of a kind that explain 
themselves. Tom Allworth enters, having the freedom of 
the house, and his only salutation is to announce to his 
friend that they must be strangers, whereupon he goes out. 
We have another entrance, almost as brief, of Abigail and 
Tabitha to show the unpropitious circumstances and pro- 
mise of his visit. An altercation between Wellborn and the 
servants, whereupon they all cry out for help, brings on 
Lady Allworth. Having given her consent to further Well- 
born's plans, Lady Allworth goes out. The servants see- 
ing the favor into which Wellborn is received, make their 
apologies and are forgiven. Wellborn makes his Exit at 
the close of the scene, with the declaration of his hope and 
belief that he has found a new way to pay old debts. No 
difficulty has been found so far in the management of the 
Exits and Entrances, for the structure provides for that. 
We have not encountered any details in which forced inge- 
nuity had to be exercised in regard to the manner of Exits 
and Entrances, something that lies so close to the heart of 
the stagemanager. An open field or a public place is very 
often used for the management of Exits and Entrances, for 
no explanation of the presence of the people is required. 



376 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

This is the case in the first scene of the second act where 
enter Marrall and Sir Giles. No Exit is required to this 
scene, because it is followed by the scene caused by the En- 
trance of Wellborn, whose coming also requires no explana- 
tion. It is a foreordained thing according to the construc- 
tion of the play. We note, however, that a cause is given 
for the Exit of Sir Giles. We see from the text, from Sir Giles's 
aside to Marrall, that he wishes to leave Wellborn with him 
in order that Marrall can "work him." The bearing of this we 
know from the previous scene between Sir Giles and Mar- 
rall. The scene closes with Marrall and Wellborn going off 
together, Marrall believing that Wellborn's brain is cracked, 
from the story which Wellborn tells him of Lady All- 
worth's favor. Wellborn's Entrance with Marrall in the 
hall of Lady Allworth's house is self-explanatory. The 
servants disperse at the command of Order, when a knock- 
ing is heard. We learn that they know their cue, and Order 
and Amble remain in order to give Wellborn his courteous 
reception. Allworth who is on the stage at the opening of 
this new scene goes out, for he has made his apology to 
Wellborn. Nothing further is required of him, and the 
whole significance of his presence was satisfied with his 
apology. The Exits and Entrances proceed naturally, each 
scene accomplishing its object. Lady Allworth enters to 
carry out her deception and take Marrall with them to the 
dinner which is waiting. The servants discuss the strange 
turn of affairs, and Furnace goes out after Amble has re- 
ported to them the incidents of the dinner and that they 
have risen. They leave the stage free to Lady Allworth, 
Wellborn and Marrall. Wellborn and Marrall go out at- 
tended by Watchall, who evidently is to see them off with 
a show of service. Lady Allworth takes the servants off to 
give them further directions. In all these Exits and En- 
trances there is a naturalness and a reason. Massinger 
used many scenes in public places, the third set scene being 
in the open country. Wellborn and Marrall are returning 
from the dinner. The object of the scene is to impress on 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 377 

Marrall Wellborn's prospects with Lady Allworth ; and 
Wellborn exits with a veiled promise to favor a certain peti- 
tion of Marrall's. When Marrall is left alone Sir Giles is 
heard without ordering some attendant to take his horse. 
This is the first time so far, except for the knocking- at the 
door, that we have had any example of immediate technical 
preparation. Here we have the noise "heard without," giv- 
ing specific directions, and the reason why he will walk : "to 
give me an appetite ; 'tis but a mile ; and exercise will keep 
me from being pursy." It will be observed that in the other 
entrance of Sir Giles explanation was not necessary; here 
Massinger deemed it proper to account for his presence in 
"the open country." Observe that he did not appear at this 
moment purposely in order to discuss with Marrall what 
Marrall had been able to do in further humiliating and 
ruining Wellborn. The marvelous story that Marrall tells 
him is regarded by Sir Giles as the fiction of a lying or dis- 
ordered brain, and he beats the servant, upon which they go 
out. With the first set scene of the third act we again have 
a scene in the open country, or, as it is described, the out- 
skirts of Lady Allworth's Park. Here again there is some 
explanation needed as seemed meet to Massinger, for Lord 
Lovell has come from a distance ; he is travelling. His pres- 
ence would not be self-explanatory as in the other cases 
which we have seen. As he enters, Lord Lovell speaks off, 
"drive the coach around the hill, something in private I 
must impart to Allworth;" there we have at once the gen- 
eral object of the scene. We have the natural and the tech- 
nical explanation of the Entrance. They go off naturally 
without the need of any device in the Dialogue, when the 
object of the scene is accomplished. The second set scene 
is in the hall of Sir Giles's house. We already know that 
Sir Giles's plan is to entertain Lord Lovell and secure him 
as a husband for his daughter. The purpose of the gather- 
ing in the hall is immediately seen, Sir Giles's first words 
indicate that a feast is preparing. Marrall's exit is caused 
by Sir Giles's order to him to call in his daughter. Greedy 



37$ ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

is got off the stage by having the command of the kitchen 
bestowed on him. Margaret enters, brought in by Marrall 
and accompanied by two female attendants. The female 
attendants are sent out by Sir Giles because he wishes to 
speak with her alone. It will be seen that there is a cause 
for all these Exits and Entrances. There was a cause in the 
dramatist's mind for the two attendant women to appear for 
the single moment. It will be seen that one of Sir Giles's 
first enquiries to her is "How like you your new woman, 
Lady Downfallen?" We then have several immediate di- 
versions by Greedy, his Exits and Entrances being pro- 
vided for purely by the comic opportunities. Of course, the 
comedy furnished by Greedy has no direct bearing on the 
Plot, his coming and going is not advancing the main Ac- 
tion in the slightest way, and his relations with the very se- 
rious scenes between Sir Giles and Margaret are purely by 
way of diversion, and not by any influence on the Action 
itself. It is well to observe at once that Exits and En- 
trances are not necessarily made to concern the Plot. Char- 
acters necessarily are utterly unconscious of any Plot, cer- 
tainly of the author's Plot. These Entrances and Exits of 
Greedy are incidents or comic scenes which are purely Epi- 
sodic. It is not altogether the place to discuss the functions 
of Greedy in this play, but it is well to observe at this point 
that we are always conscious that this comedy glutton 
serves a purpose in the extortionate and heartless plans of 
Sir Giles in crushing his hapless victims. It may be ob- 
served of the Exits and Entrances of Greedy, that the 
scenes being purely comedy scenes, the Exits and En- 
trances are made on comedy lines. He always enters with 
a complaint, and goes out with some reflection bearing on 
what is uppermost in his mind at the time, namely, the din- 
ner which is in his charge. Marrall enters hastily, to an- 
nounce the arrival of Lord Lovell. Margaret goes out, be- 
ing bid by her father to await his call. Marrall is sent out 
by Sir Giles to give a princely welcome to Lord Lovell. The 
Exits and Entrances led to thereafter are caused naturally ; 



ENTRANCES AND EXITS 379 

Sir Giles bids Greedy, Marrall and Allworth leave the 
room so that he and Margaret may be alone with Lord 
Lovell. With a whispered word of caution to Margaret, 
Sir Giles leaves her with Lord Lovell. Sir Giles re-enters 
and from their whisperings imagines that she has carried 
out his instructions. Greedy enters at this moment in great 
excitement and is thrust off by Sir Giles. There are twenty- 
five or more Exits and Entrances in this second set scene. 
Except where the Action is very lively and the scenes are 
very distinct, and the current of the Action very strong, 
this number reaches a danger point. But, as we have seen, 
many of the Exits and Entrances constitute little Episodic 
scenes. This is the case with Greedy's numerous Exits and 
Entrances. It must be remembered that his little Episodes 
pay for themselves in the diversion that they afford, and 
that they are really about the same thing, his appetite, the 
development of his character. If these Exits and Entrances 
concerned the development of the Plot, there certainly 
would be too many in number. But the mind of the audi- 
ence is not burdened by new complications, and, after all, 
the Plot of this second set scene is simple enough. We call 
attention to the unusual number of Exits and Entrances 
here because, in a general way, it is very important not to 
have too many of them, and we wish to explain why it is 
that Massinger, a master of his craft, has not erred or 
brought things into confusion by a multiplicity of Exits 
and Entrances. Exits and Entrances usually determine the 
boundaries of a scene, but here we have seen what may be 
termed separate scenes having no disturbing effect. The 
Entrance of Lady Allworth has some immediate Prepara- 
tion in the announcement of her arrival and the commotion 
among the servants without. That she should come is per- 
fectly natural and needs no explanation. It was necessary 
by way of Preparation to have the audience know that she 
was coming. Wellborn is now on his old footing with Sir 
Giles, and they go out to dinner. Greedy is astonished at 
Sir Giles's reception of Wellborn, remains behind a moment 



380 ANALYSIS OF" DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

to express his astonishment to himself, and then starts to 
go to his much anticipated dinner. Marrall re-enters to 
bear to him the message from Sir Giles that the table is full 
and he must wait. Marrall goes out after comforting him 
with the direction to proceed to the servants' hall, where 
he can have dumpling, woodcock and buttered toast with 
the maids. Greedy goes out in pursuit of dinner. Sir Giles 
re-enters, expressing himself as confident that his daughter 
has captured Lord Lovell. Marrall comes to seek him be- 
cause the whole board is troubled at his rising and his ab- 
sence, and goes out at his bidding to invite his nephew to 
speak with him in private. Everything is so natural so far, 
in that every Exit and Entrance has a cause or promises 
further developments, that no artifice is visible whatever, 
for everything belongs to the very nature of the happen- 
ings. Lady Allworth is heard speaking without as she re- 
turns. Marrall is sent out by Sir Giles. The act closes 
with Wellborn and Sir Giles going out in different direc- 
tions, the final word being the apt conclusion of the object 
of the scene. It will be observed that as the act closes in 
these older plays, the characters are usually seen going off. 
While there is no reason in many of these cases why they 
should go off, there is not always a reason why it would be 
better that they remain; but it seems to be the custom 
among the older dramatists to so take them off at the end of 
an act, in all probability, because of the stage management 
in which drop curtains were not used. At any rate, the 
close of an act in those older plays seemed to be indicated 
by the stage being cleared in this way. With scene one of 
Act four, we have characters discovered, Business being 
employed to give immediate Action. 



CHAPTER XXXI. 






EPISODE. 

In every play there is a great deal that is in the nature of 
Episode, Episodic; and there is a tendency in modern play- 
writing, particularly comedy, to introduce Episode. The 
scene in "The Lady of Lyons" in which Melnotte 
disposes of the ring and the snuffbox is distinct 
Episode. All Episode should, in some way, belong 
to the Action, and this Episode is plainly connected with 
the Plot. The whispering dismay of Beauseant and Glavis 
serves to arouse the suspicions of Damas. At first we do 
not see this object in the scene, but are exclusively inter- 
ested in the humor of the incident. It is a relaxation of the 
tensity of the Action. For a moment, we are not conscious 
of a Plot at all. The little scene at the opening of the third 
act is episodic, but a necessary part of the Action by way of 
gradation. The act might have opened with Beauseant and 
Glavis. Their talk of Pauline being at that moment at the 
inn would have conveyed the Fact, but more is to be look- 
his mother, in which he describes his love for Pauline, is 
to complain presently of the rudeness of the servants, and 
the servants are to be seen peering over the landlord's 
shoulders and laughing. The first scene then is Prepara- 
tion for what we are to see confirmed. Melnotte's talk with 
his mother in which he describes his love for Pauline is 
something in the nature of Episode. We know that he loves 
her, that he has sent her flowers, but there is something 
new in it, in that he has sent verses to Pauline and awaits 
her answer, believing that he will be answered as was the 
"poor Troubadour" by the Queen of Navarre. Consequent- 
ly, there is Action here and not a mere state of mind. It is 
Episodic that Melnotte has won the prize. It is a rifle, and 
he did not miss one shot in the contest. Episodic as the 
rifle is, it is more to the purpose than if he had won a med- 



382 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

al. Observe the magnetic tendency of Action in such de- 
tails. After Gaspar enters we have a kind of radio-activity 
that removes the scene very far from Episode. True, Gas- 
par does not appear again, and this is the only time we do 
see him, and he may be called an Episodic character, but 
the scene is one of intense Action and closely connected 
with the Plot Action. 

"Camille" affords a good study of the Episodic. More 
than four fifths of the last act is made up of Scenes which 
are Episode pure and simple. In a play in which the senti- 
ment is so compact and so individually pertinent, there is 
no occasion for that trickery in this matter of Episode which 
is often used to fill out an insubstantial play. The Unity of 
sentiment is so persuasive that not a particle of matter is 
either lost or out of place. A true Episode does not destroy 
or impair the Unity of a play. The first scene which is dis- 
tinctly an Episode is the supper scene. We have explain- 
ed why it belongs to the Action, and it is to be noted that 
the scene in and for itself is diverting and stands out in its 
own right. When we come to the gambling scene in the 
fourth act, we find that the game between Armand and 
Varville is an absolutely interesting diversion. It had to be 
made an Episode, for its purpose was to furnish Armand 
with the money by which the close of the act was to be 
made Objective by means of his showering his gains upon 
Camille as an expression of his contempt for her sordidness. 
The Episode illustrates the nature of the Indirect. 
Armand, in his state of mind, might easily have gone direct- 
ly to the purpose of his presence at the ball and brought to 
an issue his quarrel with Varville. That would have been a 
clumsy dramatic method for the author, for he had two ob- 
jects in the act, namely, that Armand should humiliate Ca- 
mille and that he should pick his quarrel with Varville. 
Just as soon as the Action gathered itself into the supreme 
moment in which this was accomplished, it ceased to be 
Episode. Episode, then, is a secondary thing by means 



EPISODE 383 

of which an object is entirely reached. If is often required 
to show a state of emotion out of which direct Action is to 
proceed. It is something that holds the note ; by means of 
it we dwell upon sentiment and present conditions. It is 
something apart from the main Action, and it serves to 
bring out character and relations. It must contain Action 
in itself, and have some relation to the main Action, but it 
is so interesting in itself, that the main Action is held in 
abeyance. Thus, in the last act, we see Gaston elevated to 
a pathetic nobility of character, fitting him for companion- 
ship with Camille in her moments of refined distress which 
touch every heart. Certainly nothing could be more Epi- 
sodic than Prudence's borrowing the money. The scene 
cannot possibly effect the destiny of the regenerated wo- 
man. No deflection is made in the course of events; but 
there is a touch of nature in it that is needed to bring out 
the conditions of the Plot at this point. If we measure the 
Action by the emotion, there is very strong Action in it, 
but it is all remote from Plot Action, although it is of a 
piece with the development and rounding off of the general 
Action. 

We shall now call attention to the little details of 
Dialogue, and the relations of the characters which may be 
described as Episodic in nature. This aspect of the Epi- 
sodic as we again see, is closely allied with the Indirect, 
and it is to be found constantly in the dialogue and can be 
handled best by the dramatist skilled in Technique. In this 
way, the second scene of the first act, in which Nichette is 
introduced, is Episodic. Nothing whatever comes of the 
immediate personal object of her visit. It is closely con- 
nected with and is a part of the condition of affairs, but it 
is not absolutely needed for the development of the imme- 
diate events of the play except by way of convenience. The 
idea of Episode involves the happenings during the prog- 
ress of the Action only. If Armand had been killed in the 
duel the true Action of the play would have come to an end. 
The fourth act might have been added as an Epilogue; 



384 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

but its interest could not have been sustained to the same 
extent. In the Episode of Prudence's borrowing the mo- 
ney, the Action is not yet over, and while we may be amus- 
ed at the rapacity of this creature, we are saddened by the 
proof it gives of the hollowness of all the friendships enjoy- 
ed by Camille except the few that prove true at the close. 
Thus, the scene or the Episode has a real importance with 
reference to Camille. It belongs to the Action such as it is. 
It rounds off the history of Prudence and her relations with 
the Action. It is true that this Episode could be omitted 
without impairing in the slightest degree the Plot of the 
play, but drama, in its emancipated estate of the present 
day, indulges us graciously by not making such a deterrent 
rule as is sought to be imposed by some dramatic grammar- 
ians. It must necessarily be subordinate, for if out of pro- 
portion it would be a disturbing elernent. 

Episode has always been in use, but it has grown in im- 
portance and application as the art has widened, and as it 
has thrown off the rigid limitations of what is specifically 
known as the classic drama. In plays of domestic life and 
of character, Episode necessarily plays a considerable part. 
"Still Waters Run Deep" is a play of domestic life and of 
Character, but it is not so marked by the use of Episode as 
it is of Detail. It should be borne in mind that different 
plays do not necessarily furnish the same amount of illus- 
tration of any given principle. The very first scene in this 
play is in the nature of the Episodic, for much of its Mate- 
rial, such as the use made of the music and the discussion 
about it, is confined to the scene and may be described as. 
parenthetical. We will not now dwell upon what is "in the 
nature of the Episodic," but will point out the few instances 
of Episode in the play. The little scene between Mrs. Mild- 
may and Mrs. Sternhold in which the aunt describes the 
character and stupidity of Mildmay, is Episodic, because it is 
merely a parenthesis in the scene within which it is a scene. 
There is no immediate new development from it, and it 
comes into active use later on when Mildmay reminds Mrs. 



EPISODE 385 

Sternhold of her expression of opinion of him. Emily's 
knotting her handkerchief and bringing it down smartly on 
Mildmay's face is Episodic, for its use is not to advance the 
Action of the play, but to afford an exit. It is an Episodic 
incident when Mildmay is discovered on the ladder, with 
the result that there is an incidental conversation. The 
final scene in the act itself is something of an Episode. It 
brings the curtain down on a situation from which we ex- 
pect no immediate collision between Mildmay and Hawks- 
ley, although the scene has an apparent bearing at times to- 
ward such an issue. In the second act, the scene between 
Dunbilk and Hawksley is Episodic, because it is mainly pre- 
paratory, and would not necessarily have to be enumerated 
in the Plot Action. Hawksley's demonstration, by means of 
algebra, of the scientific nature of his new motive principle 
is Episodic, because it goes beyond the actual requirements 
of the Plot Action and is meant for the purpose of impress- 
ing character. In the reading, the scene seems to impress 
many students as being too long, but it was written by an 
author who knew his business and the effects he wished to 
produce, and it is likely that in the acting there is not a 
word too much. The Action of the play is so compact that 
it does not afford us that study of Episode which can be 
more profitably pursued in certain other plays. 

"A New Way To Pay Old Debts" is strong at all 
points, and in no particular does Massinger manifest his art 
more beautifully than his management of the Episodes. An 
Episode must necessarily be diverting, for it is usually a 
relaxation of the main Action, affording a period of rest or 
diversion. It gives variety, like the dactyl to the spondee 
in verse. When the Action is tense there is no time for it. 
It should be a part of the Action, but not necessarily of the 
Action of the Plot. Its immediate purpose may be for the 
development of character or by way of preparation or for 
bringing out elements which are required by and for the Ac- 
tion. It takes away strained attention to the mechanism of 
the play. By means of it there is an indirect progress. The 
25 



386 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

first scene in this play that is a distinct Episode is where, 
in the second set scene, the servants are discovered in the 
hall of Lady Allworth's house, drawn up in a line across the 
stage. So far as the Action of the play is concerned we 
see only a condition of affairs. We are interested, it is true, 
in the proof of the fact that Lady Allworth keeps herself in 
seclusion, that she lives in state, and that these are her ser- 
vants, but apart from that we do not see and do not have to 
see the purpose of the author. We have not the slightest 
hint that these servants are to be used to bar the entrance 
of Wellborn. Massinger could easily have made it known 
to us that Wellborn was going to present himself, but, in 
that event, the Action of the scene would have been very 
much disturbed ; instead of an Episode, it would have been 
a scene of the Action proper. It would have had a turn 
whereby the arrogance of the servants would have concern- 
ed Wellborn and our expectation would have been aroused 
as to the reception they would give him. On the contrary, 
the scene or Episode is about something entirely indepen- 
dent of Wellborn. These servants do not mention him ; the 
audience hardly thinks of him. To have had it otherwise 
would have made the Action too rigid. Our attention 
would not be so completely absorbed by the drolleries of 
the servants. As it is, we get Furnace who is to serve as a 
foil to Greedy. We get an independent Action, something 
that keeps the scene moving with a story of its own. There 
is a quarrel between Furnace and Amble, with Order trying 
to compose it. There is nothing to cause us to expect any- 
thing that will bear on the Plot Action. Everything is set- 
tled within the scene. Conditions only are established. It 
is easy enough to see that it is an Episode, pure and simple. 
But we want to discover more than this by our analysis. 
Why did Massinger use the Episode? What was the ope- 
ration of his mind? Where did he get it from? What is 
the necessity of it? It came from the Material. He wished 
to make use of it in some way. It was too good to throw 
away. He had to connect what they said and did with the 



Episode; 387 

events and characters of the play. After the servants are 
introduced in this Episodic way they are active enough in 
succeeding scenes. It was the only place or the best place 
to make us acquainted with them. If they had been repre- 
sented as throwing dice or devising means of cheating their 
mistress, it would have been a false Episode. It would have 
been foreign to the Action, whereas it is now a piece of it. 
It joins it later on serviceably. We are sufficiently inter- 
ested already in Lady Allworth to be diverted by what the 
servants say and do in this scene. The scene between Tom 
Allworth and Lady Allworth is distinctly not an Episode, 
for we see a turn in the Action bearing on the Plot. She 
warns him against his friend whom he had offered to assist 
and whom he assured of a welcome at her hands. The 
movement of the play turns aside to Episode again when 
Greedy gets our attention when Sir Giles visits the house 
of Lady Allworth. There is a certain amount of Action in 
it, for we see the character of the man, already described as 
the tool of Sir Giles. We are amused at the Episode, but 
we do not forget the use to which Greedy is put. It is Epi- 
sodic when Abigail and Tabitha express their repugnance 
to Wellborn, such a wretched object, that thing. It is some- 
thing that adds to the impression. Leave it out, and the 
Plot Action would still be there. But do we not feel that 
they will report to their mistress? Are we not willing to 
see all the circumstances of the reception of Wellborn? 
Would not the Action be very bare if the servants at once 
proceeded to attempt to throw Wellborn out? The scene 
between Wellborn and Lady Allworth is distinctly not an 
Episode, nor was it an Episode when the struggle with the 
servants brought out their mistress. The Cause and the 
Effect made the cogs revolve. When the end of the scene 
between Wellborn and Lady Allworth is reached a most 
important step forward had been taken. The first part of 
the scene opening the second act is Episode, and has indi- 
rect Action, but the direct Action does not begin until 
Wellborn is referred to. This is our first absolute confirma- 



388 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE: 

tion of the merciless character of Sir Giles. We are glad to 
stop long enough to take a good look at him, his schemes 
interest us, for we know their indirect bearing on his 
nephew whom we have seen him spurn, and whom we 
know he has defrauded. We would take little interest in 
Master Frugal's history if we were not interested in the 
designs of the cruel extortioner against his nephew. Sir 
Giles would be a mere melodramatic villain if we did not 
have these sidelights. We get his character at first hand, 
and by means of the Episode. How else could these inci- 
dental facts have been introduced so conveniently and ef- 
fectively? Transpose the first part of this scene to the last 
and the effectiveness of the Episodic part of it would be lost. 
Pity is excited for Frugal, whom we hear of, passingly, for 
the first time, but the chief interest is in the development of 
the cruel methods of Sir Giles and the use made of Greedy 
and of Marrall, all having a bearing on Wellborn. The first 
part of the scene, then, is Episodic, but it has a closer and 
more varied connection with the Action than the scene be- 
tween the servants. The use of the servants now becomes 
less and less Episodic. Amble's description of the conduct 
of Marrall at the table is Episodic, but actively Episodic. It 
is such scenes that may well be described as adverbial or 
qualifying, that give breadth and life to the Action. From 
now on the Episodes and the Action proper never lose sight 
of Sir Giles and the principal characters. Even in such an 
Episode as that which opens the third act we are in the 
midst of the Action of the play. The banquet is preparing 
for the reception of Lord Lovell at Sir Giles's house. All 
that Greedy says and does in such a diverting way is Epi- 
sode. You may ask of what use? See it acted and you will 
not question the skill and purpose of Massinger. Does he 
disturb the Action or progress of the play? Not at all. He 
exasperates Sir Giles, but we expect nothing from his 
mouthings about food. Besides, it is largely Preparation 
for that most delightful, pure Episode in which Marrall an- 
nounces to Greedy that he must eat below with the maids. 



episode; 389 

Was it not worth while to have him interrupt such import- 
ant scenes of the Action proper as he did in order to get 
Episode of the kind? Of course, there was no other pur- 
pose in Massinger's mind. Must you always be looking for 
Plot purpose in everything that is done and said? That 
tendency to the making of rigid Plots makes the plotty 
play — an abomination. Certainly there are some subjects 
that admit of less Episode than others. The more Plotty 
the less Episode, as a rule. There is no room for it, but 
here is a rather complicated Plot, with a great deal of Epi- 
sode. It is here certainly a mark of mastery. The oppor- 
tunity for Episode comes from the preponderance of char- 
acter in the play. Massinger does not labor over the com- 
plications in forgetfulness of opportunities for diversion. 
In the Greedy Episodes we feel that the "thin gutted 
squire" is less the fool and cormorant than Sir Giles him- 
self; besides, there should be some relief from the sombre- 
ness of the villainy of the master. Some students of this 
play do not seem to recognize the effectiveness and artistic 
value of the Greedy Episodes. Make a good study of it. 
Episode is getting to be of more and more value and use as 
our drama develops. It is almost pure Episode where Well- 
born pays his creditors back, in one way or another. It 
does not advance the Action of the Plot with any quick 
movement. It does prove that Wellborn has been put on 
his feet again by his Uncle, who is moved to do so because 
he thinks Wellborn is about to marry Lady Allworth. It 
also strengthens Marrall's belief in the growing power of 
Wellborn, so that we are prepared for his confiding to 
Wellborn the "weighty secret" that Sir Giles is going to 
demand security from him, which is followed by the advice 
that Wellborn urge Sir Giles to produce the deed. The Epi- 
sode leads up to Action, the kind that turns the wheels. 
Again observe how interesting in themselves are all the 
Episodes of this character. The fifth and last act is with- 
out distinct Episodes. 



CHAPTER XXXII. 



SCENERY. 

The use of three Set Scenes in the first act of "The Lady 
of Lyons," two in the third and two in the fifth, might be 
called "old-fashioned," but any other arrangement might 
have hampered the treatment of this particular Material. 
No valid objection can be made to the Division. The Ac- 
tion requires the localities. Two scenes were inevitable, 
the interior of Pauline's home and that of Melnotte's. The 
exterior of the village inn was chosen rather than the inter- 
ior. The exterior of the house of the Deschappelles gives 
variety, and the gardens are connected with the very idea 
of the origin of Melnotte. If there had been any hesitation 
between the interior or exterior, this would have decided 
the choice. A street in Lyons was required by way of con- 
venience, a place for the casual meeting with the officers. 
Finally a room in the house of the Deschappelles. All these 
scenes of locality were properly arranged with reference to 
the entrances and exits. This is a part of the stage man- 
agement that need not be considered very closely now. No 
mention is made of the lattice in the description or stage 
directions but the lattice window has a use when Beauseant 
makes his visit to the cottage to taunt Pauline and induce 
her to go with him. He is first seen at the lattice before he 
enters. The stage direction says, "A staircase to the right 
conducts to the upper story." It makes no material differ- 
ence whether it be at the right or left; the stage manager 
of any production of the play might change it according to 
his convenience. He cannot, however, change the scenes of 
locality. Proper entrances and exits must be provided, of 
course, but the details of the scene itself belong rather to 
the stagemanager than to the playwright. At the same time, 
the dramatist's conception of the scene must be practicable 
and vivid enough to be secure in his own mind. Various 



SCENERY 391 

things, such as the easel and the portrait, are fixed by the 
dramatist himself; they are essential details. All the Scen- 
ery is in keeping and none is unnecessary, none for the mere 
sake of Scenery. 

The selection of the scenes of locality in "Camille" pro- 
bably gave Dumas little occasion for hesitation. The 
choice was obvious, and there was no problem to consider 
in order to fit the Action to them or them to the Action. 
There was no demand for exteriors, the play being almost 
entirely one of emotion within doors; the consequence is 
that the first two acts pass in the apartment of Camille, the 
third act in the country house, the fourth act in the house of 
Olimpe, and the fifth Act in Camille's poorly furnished 
rooms. It only remains to make these interiors appropriate 
in furnishing, and with doors to suit the required entrances 
and exits. The first scene requires a mirror, for Camille is 
to look in it and note her paleness. The folding doors, cen- 
tre, lead to a room into which the revelers go, and from which 
at the end of the act they emerge in a fantastic dance. The 
fire place with its fire indicates, in a manner, the time of year, 
March, and adds to the appearance of comfort with which 
Camille surrounds herself. The piano is not a mere acces- 
sory of luxury ; it is for use in several material incidents, as 
when Varville strums upon it and is asked by Camille to 
cease his noise, and is also used as an accompaniment to the 
singing and dancing and the revelry. The entrances are ar- 
ranged so as to give variety and meet the exigencies of the 
going and coming. There is no need to call attention to the 
particular arrangement, for the entrances and exits are 
purely incidental to the Action and any stage manager 
could arrange the doors to suit himself with proper regard 
to the movements of the characters. It is not at all impera- 
tive that the set scene should be exactly as Dumas has ar- 
ranged it, but, in any event, the properties used must re- 
main the same. In point of fact, it may be noted that in the 
second act, Nanine's exit (L. 1 E.) to get the shawl for Ca- 
mille is not down in the direction of the first act at all. 



39 2 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

However, we do not call attention to that as a particular 
defect ; but provision must be made in the set scene for dis- 
tinguishing as to the doors of the main entrance and as to 
the doors that lead to the other special apartments. Those 
points are really matters of course. The dramatist edits 
his set scene according to the exigencies of the Action and 
the movement. Of course, it would be absurd to prepare a 
diagram of a scene and have it so fixed that the Action and 
the movement must conform to it. The room in the coun- 
try house is provided with a large window reaching to the 
floor, so that Nanine is discovered walking in the garden. 
This is a natural device in order to give the scene the air 
of the country. Different exits and entrances are also pro- 
vided so as to enable characters to come and go off with- 
out meeting each other. The arrangements in this play are 
not meaningless. The supper room door in the fourth act 
is so arranged that the entrance of the characters as they 
rush in after Armand violently dashes it open, may be effec- 
tive. This matter of arrangement of the stage largely be- 
longs to the stage manager. The dramatist has to see to it 
that his diagram of the scene does not bring conflict into 
the effective movements of the characters. To what extent 
he should go into the details of his set scene lies in his judg- 
ment as to essential things. The tendency is to make the 
Scenery helpful to the Action. A window for Camille to 
open and look out is provided in the last act: "Oh, how 
bright and beautiful everything appears." As important as 
this scenic arrangement is, the more important function of 
the dramatist is to provide the Action. The arrangements 
in "Camille" are so simple that a discussion of set scenes 
will be fore profitable in some play that is more complex in 
this particular. 

"Still Waters Run Deep" is simple enough in Scenery 
and scenic arrangement. After the locality and char- 
acter of the Scenery have been determined it becomes 
a fixed matter of detail to which the Action may conform. 
The real importance or difficulty is in securely selecting 



SCENERY 393 

what the Scenery is to be. Taylor did not select his Scen- 
ery first and then accommodate his play to it. In his notes 
of his play, or in his mental reservation, he placed the 
scene of the first act in the drawing room of Mildmay's 
villa. That villa had to be situated at a certain distance 
from Manchester. He placed it at Brompton. As the play 
developed in his mind, he saw that he needed a conserva- 
tory across the stage at back, communicating with the gar- 
den by folding glass doors. He had a use for everything. 
It is not likely that he built the house with wooden folding 
doors first and then tore it down again and put in glass 
doors, although it is not impossible, from the plastic nature 
of playwriting, that he may have done so. At any rate, he 
arranged the Scenery according to the demands as they 
came up. He had the French windows with curtains, open- 
ing to gardens, for certain exits and entrances. He need- 
ed those exits and entrances according to the development 
of the play in his Scenario. He did not particularly con- 
cern himself with L. 3 E. or R. 1 E., until he found occasion 
to make these exits and entrances distinct. The play 
could be done just as well with one arrangement of the 
scene Plot as another, just so the arrangement provided for 
the exigencies. There is a reason why for every stage di- 
rection as to this Scenery. The question of Scenery, as 
Scenery, for effect hardly enters into the scheme of the 
play. The stage management, however, is involved. There 
is no particular point in the process of thought at which 
locality and Scenery are fixed upon, but they naturally sug- 
gest themselves almost immediately. Could Taylor have 
hesitated between an exterior or an interior for his first 
scene, which is wholly and intimately domestic in its na- 
ture? 

There is nothing in "A New Way To Pay Old Debts" for 
the mere sake of Scenery. In the first place, it was written 
before the days of elaboration in that particular. More was 
left to the imagination than would now be done, and, in 
consequence, the text often gained verbally. And yet with 



394 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

the modern use of Scenery in this play not a line need be 
omitted. On "the skirts of Lady Allworth's Park," Lovell, 
speaking off as he enters, says, "Drive the coach around the 
hill: Something in private I must impart to Allworth." 
This is the first set scene in act third; we had seen it as 
the first set scene in act second. Indirectly from the text 
we know that the characters engaged in the dialogue are 
on their way to the house of Lady Allworth ; in the second 
use of it, the way leads from Lady Allworth's to Sir Giles's. 
The third exterior, the third scene in act second, is, "The 
open country." It requires no definite locality, the Scenery 
having no bearing on the movements of the people. It is 
plain that Massinger wrote with the natural pictures in his 
mind. What a relief from those plays in which it is so ob- 
vious that the dramatist had the stage ONLY in his mind ! 
Certainly he was always conscious of the limitations of the 
stage, and his vivid imagination furnished entrances and 
exits, right, left, etc., but the stage directions to be seen in 
the acting edition are, to a great extent, modern. The ale- 
house is also an exterior. Massinger may have first thought 
of an interior, but this is better. Attention is at once, when 
the curtain rises, centered on the wretched man, with a 
large rough stick, in tattered apparel, who knocks at the 
door. Besides, the talk between Wellborn and Allworth 
could be better held in the open. If all this had taken place 
within the house, the first incident would not have been so 
conclusively disposed of. There Wellborn is, at the end of 
the scene, homeless, no prospect of a renewal of the quarrel, 
spurned, resolved to leave his old haunts and seek to re- 
habilitate himself. Little things may determine the pro- 
priety. There was hardly any hesitation about determining 
upon an alehouse for the opening scene, but whether an ex- 
terior, may have given some thought. The Scenery, belong- 
ing as it does, to the external and accidental things of a 
play, is soon fixed upon. It is chosen for certain conveni- 
ences and proprieties and remains fixed, being then elimi- 
nated from the plastic necessities of the work. Something 



SCENERY 395 

may arise in the process of construction requiring a change, 
but usually the selection of the localities of the scenery is 
made without difficulty. A hall in Lady Allworth's house ; 
a hall in Sir Giles's house; a room in Lady Allworth's, a 
room in Sir Giles's, are interiors. The directions are simple, 
such as, "Table and two chairs, Pens, Ink, Paper, Wax, and 
lighted Taper." We must include the decoration and pro- 
perties in the Scenery. No one can read this play without 
feeling the substantial state in which Lady Allworth lives 
or the display of opulence of which Sir Giles is capable. A 
"table and two chairs" is enough for Massinger. It is plain 
why he selected the hall for the first scene in which Well- 
born appears at the house. Lady Allworth receives no one, 
but her house is open to every one. She provides food for 
the needy, as ever, and her table is free to those who come. 
Sir Giles can reach the hall. It is there he meets Wellborn 
and reviles him. The interiors and feastings were inciden- 
tally necessary for Justice Greedy. The actual disposition 
of the rooms and doors belong to the surface of things and 
not to the substance. It may be that if Massinger had giv- 
en elaborate descriptions of architecture and decoration and 
the internal arrangement of the rooms and the houses, he 
might have contributed something that historical records 
have omitted, but if he had relied too much upon the pic- 
torial and the objective, his lines would not now be so rich 
and descriptive, in the proper sense. It is not by descrip- 
tion alone that he produces scenic effects in our minds, but 
also by the vital necessity of everything that is said. What- 
ever is described in the Dialogue belongs to the Action. 



CHAPTER XXXIII. 



DETAIL ; CIRCUMSTANTIALITY. 

The process of coming from the general to the particular 
must now be well established in the student's mind. He 
must understand the value, the inevitable necessity, of hav- 
ing an idea of ample magnitude to start with, that a play is 
constructed first, and that the greater part of the thinking 
precedes the execution; the writing of a play being the 
execution of it. When you begin to develop the idea from 
which you start, each succeeding step is a detail; at first 
large, then small. The successive steps in the Plot, for ex- 
ample, are the Details of that Plot. We may call them the 
larger Details of the play. You see a building at a dis- 
tance, and as you approach it closer you perceive more and 
more of the Details. So it is with a play as you proceed 
in the work. Now, the amateur begins the writing or exe- 
cution of a play by means of Details at once. It is really 
an almost impossible method. The large and small Details 
are jumbled together. In the absence of structure, the 
Details cannot be assigned to any proper divisions. 
Details used in this way would soon exhaust 
all sources of inspiration. The Details would be- 
come more lifeless and more useless the more of them you 
accumulated. It is only by pursuing the proper workman- 
like method that true and abundant Detail can be procured. 
Your mind is constantly kept in a state of exhilaration by 
the new things that come to you with each step. Indeed 
this discovery of Detail as you need it is one of the com- 
pensations of the dramatist who works with a proper 
method. An appreciation of Detail is proof of interest in 
Life and of a knowledge of the subject you are handling. You 
will observe attention given to Detail in any good anecdote, 
particularly if one is relating a personal experience; and it 
is through the proper arrangement of this Detail that the 



detail; circumstantiality 397 

narrator keeps his hearers constantly interested. The sense 
of Detail is, moreover, a striking characteristic of the dra- 
matic mind. The undramatic mind, or the merely philo- 
sophic mind, is content with the mere statement of the pro- 
position, the philosophy of things. Such a mind is willing to 
admit without going back to the small actualities of Life, 
that love can subdue the heart of the barbarian ; and it does 
not care to know the Details of how Parthenia managed it. 
It is when you get to the Scenes that you confront Detail. 
In the production and the acting, the stage manager and the 
actor add infinite Detail to what you have written, the 
inflection of the voice and every movement becoming im- 
portant. But all that Detail can amount to nothing unless 
that Detail has been reached after the manner that we 
have indicated. Every Detail should count. 

In this analytical part all that can be done is to have you 
note the Detail in the plays and the manner in which it has 
been introduced. In these plays you see how things are done 
rightly; it is only in bad plays or in your own work, as a 
beginner, that you can experience or see how Detail is 
wrongly practiced. Absolutely ruinous is all Detail that is 
mere "Story," off stage, which should be seen in order to 
be retained in the mind. But if you master the method of 
having all your Action take place on the stage you will never 
think of having Detail off-stage; you will not have too 
many words by way of Detail if you have made your Plot 
and mapped out the play so as to save words. 

The smallest Detail may be of the utmost importance. De- 
tail becomes important in its place. When the barbarians are 
throwing dice Novio stakes a black colt fleet as the winds, 
and Ambivar two fat rams. Do you not see that this is Detail 
in the right place? What use could you have for that Detail 
outside of this particular Scene? It need not have entered 
into your mind until you reached the execution of the 
Scene, but with the general necessities of the Scene pre- 
determined you would resume your process of thought and 
the proper Detail would come to you as called for by the 



39^ ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

Action. These Details were not required for the Plot. Note 
Details which belong only to the Scenes. 

Detail comes from a perfect or sufficient knowledge, of 
the subject or material. It is of the utmost importance, 
then, in the creative part of the work, and must be had be- 
fore there can be any use for the application of the Tech- 
nique. To discover by means of analysis the Details in 
these plays is more to confirm the truth of this than any- 
thing else. In descending from the general to the particu- 
lar, from the Proposition to the Plot, and further to the 
technical divisions, we get further and further into Detail 
until the full effect depends absolutely upon Detail. The 
Landlord gives some account of Melnotte, "a wonderful 
young man." Beauseant: "How wonderful? Are his cab- 
bages better than other people's?" Landlord: "Nay, he 
don't garden any more; his father left him well off. He's 
only a genus." Glavis — : "A what?" Landlord: "A ge- 
nus; a man who can do anything in life except anything 
that's useful; — that's a genus." Bulwer may have had the 
expression of "genus" in his notes ready for this scene or it 
may have occurred to him in writing the scene, but it is a 
detail. It is a much smaller detail than these other Details 
which are, in a certain measure, essential to the Plot. Pau- 
line's mother says: "Any girl, however inexperienced, 
knows how to accept an offer, but it requires a vast deal of 
address to refuse one with proper condescension and dis- 
dain. I used to practice it at school with the dancing-mas- 
ter." In the mechanism, the play could do without this de- 
tail although there was a technical occasion for the use of 
it. It was not merely to give Character. Time had to be 
given for the entrance of Damas after the exit of Beau- 
seant. And yet how valuable this detail is ! Whatever in a 
play secures a laugh is worth money. Nor is this a com- 
mercial way of looking at the matter. See also how useful 
Detail is in the monologue of Damas at the close of the first 
set scene. We know well what his opinion of women is, 
l)ut here is new detail that serves technical purpose. If 



detail; circumstantiality 399 

you know your subject thoroughly, this Detail will come to 
you at command. You cannot rely upon its coming to you 
by accident. 

A play like "Camille" that has had universal acceptance 
must have general ideas that are understood by all people, 
but it would not be a Parisian play if it were not for its De- 
tails. It is absolute proof of the soundness and necessity of 
knowing of what you write or informing yourself of your 
material in all its aspects and minute accidents. If Nichette 
is a grisette or a working girl, she must be seen with her 
cap and all the characteristics of her class. To have her 
dressed like a school girl and played like one is to destroy 
all proportions and truth. Life cannot be disentangled of De- 
tails. Some one rings the bell; Louis will attend the door; 
it is not Camille, she said she would return at half past ten, 
and it is not yet ten. Here we have a technical Detail for 
the purpose of permitting Nanine, in a later scene, to re- 
count the history of Camille without having the attention 
of the audience distracted with the expectation of seeing 
Camille at any moment. The short exchange of talk with 
Nichette is all Detail. It could be nothing else, for there is 
not a particle of subjective purpose in its bearing on the 
Plot. The Details constitute the chief interest. The bun- 
dle does not make the slightest difference in the Plot Action 
of the play, but the incident of the call would have been too 
bare, too general without it. Besides, it gives a specific 
cause for the coming of Nichette. Again, it shows Objec- 
tively her relations with Camille. It occasions the remark 
that "nothing is a trouble that I do for Camille." She can- 
not remain. Why? Gustave is waiting. There is some 
new detail in every sentence, and these details are animate 
as well as inanimate. That Camille calls her Nichette, a pet 
name, that they worked together, with other details, are 
brought out. Varville says, "Oh, then he is Monsieur Ni- 
chette !" surely that is a detail of passing humor. If a char- 
acter did not have liberty for such little trifles, the Action of 
the Dialogue would have the rigidity of cast iron. This is 



400 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

an excellent example of Detail, trifling as it is. It is born 
of the spirit of the moment and of circumstances, the gen- 
eral outline of which has been provided in the Structure. 
The trifling Detail need not have been set down in the 
notes preparatory to the writing. The dramatist has as 
much as he can do to attend to the additional Details when 
he takes up the writing. This trifling Detail does not re- 
appear. Nanine's reference to the camelias that Camille 
wears is a larger detail. Use is to be made of it later. The 
Details of Camille's history have to be got out of the way 
in the opening of the play. There are many little Details 
that can be summed up in a single scene ; this is always the 
proper procedure. So cohesive and correlated are all these 
details in the recital by Nanine that they are remembered. 
They count at the moment. Business is all and always De- 
tail, attention having been called to this in the discussion 
of that subject. Varville sits at the fire place; Camille gives 
herself something to do at the piano in order to express her 
indifference. Brightness in Dialogue, repartee, in particu- 
lar, comes from the detail induced by the Action of the mo- 
ment. "Mademoiselle Olimpe, you wicked woman," says 
Gaston. "No wonder, I keep bad company," is her reply. 
Indirectly and by detail alone is character conveyed for the 
most part. The strongest situation in the play, the scene 
between Camille and Duval, is made up of infinite Detail of 
sentiment and Facts. The structure has provided for the 
sum total of the scene. The product, in its. crude state, is 
ready, the dramatist reduces it to its elements and Details. 
He goes from the general to the particular. The supper 
scene, apart from its purpose to show the beginning of the 
love of the two, could not exist without its Detail. Dumas 
had to show gayety and frivolity. The purposes of the 
scene settled, he could lay it aside and proceed with his con- 
struction of the play, and then return, when ready, to sup- 
ply the details. Do you suppose Dumas at first was think- 
ing of the yellow cab when his mind and heart were en- 
gaged in the problem of entangling two hearts and lives? 



detail; circumstantiality 401 

What has the yellow cab or Prudence's age or appetite to 
do with structure? And why should an author encumber 
his mind with such details when he is establishing the 
mechanism of the play? 

In his Plot of "Still Waters Run Deep" Taylor has avoid- 
ed the complications of Detail that would have resulted 
from the introduction of much that he leaves to Story and 
happenings "offstage." He goes the limit in this respect. 
Too much detail of Plot is to be avoided else you will be 
overwhelmed with Mere Plot. Too much Detail of Plot 
could easily have perverted this play into a melodrama. 
Taylor's object, on the contrary, was to depict Character. 
We had to give in Detail the characteristics of the two op- 
posing men, Mildmay and Hawksley, consequently, we find 
the very minute mathematical calculations of Hawksley in 
the second act. The Details of Hawksley's argument or 
demonstrations were necessary, more to show the methods 
of the promoter and to explain his success with investors in 
a general way than for the immediate Plot necessities of the 
scene. Hawksley's demonstration, reduced by the common 
sense, Mildmay to an absurdity, was not required to con- 
vince Mildmay of the fraudulent nature of the scheme, or 
even to make the slightest impression on him in favor of 
Hawksley. It was not a Plot necessity, it was pure Detail 
for the purpose of Character. We have pointed out the un- 
common amount of Business in the play, either implied or 
expressed. Business is almost always Detail and it is es- 
sential for Character and Action. The first scene abounds 
in Detail, and there is no unnecessary Detail in it or in any 
part of the play. Unnecessary Detail is as ruinous to the 
Action of the play as necessary Detail is helpful. The ten- 
dency of all perfect knowledge of one's material is toward 
Detail. If Mildmay had invited his wife to a tete-a-tete 
with him at some hotel or public house, name not given, the 
effect would not be the same as it is when he speaks of the 
Star and Garter. We can feel a local color here which 
stands out much more clearly with those who know defin- 
26 



402 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPI^ 

itely the locality of the play. It would have been unneces- 
sary Detail for him to have gone into the particulars about 
the Star and Garter. The absurdity of this unnecessary 
Detail we have shown in the examples of unnecessary 
Words in the exercise on that subject. To have Mildmay 
ask Emily to indulge him with "Auld Robin Gray" is surely 
more significant than if he merely requested some simple 
music. Observe also that these Details are not always 
mere Details, for, if you remember the song, the wife re- 
grets her marriage. That both Potter and Mildmay go to 

sleep after dinner is a Detail, not necessarily for Character, 
although it fits into the scene perfectly, but in the case of 
Potter, in order to keep him on the stage and save an exit 
and re-entrance, and, in the case of Mildmay, to have him 
overhear Mrs. Sternhold's opinion of him. The wasp is a 
Detail used for a specific purpose. That Mildmay is going 
to Manchester that night by the mail train is, at this point, 
purely a Detail. The play abounds in little Details, to all 
of which you should give your attention. They are all lit- 
tle touches which give completeness to the conditions of 
the Action and the relations of the characters. It is not very 
important that the difference between the ages of Potter and 
Jane is eighteen years, but that difference does afford a 
great deal of character and makes much more definite the 
superiority of Jane over her complacent brother. It is an 
important detail that Emily is Potter's only child. Taylor 
might have left that fact unexpressed, but with an instinct 
and knowledge of a true author, he conveyed the point by 
expressing the Detail. The significance of a little fact of 
that kind is immensely helpful to a play in suggesting ideas 
to an audience and not expressing them. Surely the audi- 
ence will find some explanation in the spoiled vanity and 
weakness of Emily in the fact that she is an only child. 
The Details of the Business in the play we have already 
touched upon. In point of fact, any amount of proper De- 
tail may be and should be introduced into a play if it can be 



detail; circumstantiality 403 

shown incidentally and if it belongs to the actual facts. It 
requires skill to introduce these little things where they will 
not disturb, but where they will be helpful. Mrs. Mildmay 
and Mrs. Sternhold might have introduced the Detail in the 
very first scene that Mildmay was a north-country boy from 
Lancashire; but that Detail has its only significance when 
Dunbilk warns Hawksley to be cautious with Mildmay for 
"Thim North-counthry boys is as cute as Dublin car dhri- 
vers." For the present, let us content ourselves in this ex- 
ercise with noting that the Detail comes from the perfect 
knowledge of one's Material, and that its use is governed by 
Indirection, Sequence, the Action and other elements in a 
play, and that Necessary detail is helpful and indispensable, 
while unnecessary Detail is harmful. 

Taine somewhere says that when a tiger presented itself 
to Shakespeare's mind, he saw that tiger with all its marks 
and peculiarities, to the hair. We may attribute this to 
imagination ; I prefer to call it knowledge. There have been 
been painters celebrated for their landscapes, who, if they 
wished to introduce a figure of a man or animal had it done 
by a special artist. This was because they did not know 
animate nature as they did inanimate. They did not com- 
mand the details. Our best profit in the examination of 
Massinger's play with reference to details is to become con- 
vinced that a previous study of one's subject, that upon 
which he writes, is essential to the dramatist. This play is 
incomparably richer in details than any we have so far ex- 
amined. It will not be necessary to enumerate them all be- 
fore we recognize this fact and wonder at the completeness 
of Massinger's vision. He not only gives all the details di- 
rectly adhering to his personages, but illustrative sentences, 
with a wide sweep, give us pictures, far and near, of the pe- 
riod. Tapwell refuses Wellborn drink, 

"Nor the remainder of a single can, 
Left by a drunken porter," 

While Froth adds, "Not the dropping of the tap." Tapwell 



4°4 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

does not find the claims on Wellborn for money given "in 
chalk/' The precise sum of forty pounds fixes exactly the 
humble beginnings of Tapwell as a landlord, and Tapwell 
distinguishes between tavern and taphouse. If Tapwell had 
simply said that he would give him no drink because he had 
no money any longer, it would have lost the appearance of 
detail, whereas what he does say is rich in it : 

"For, from the tavern to the taphouse, all 
On forfeiture of their licenses, stand bound 
Ne'er to remember who their best guests were, 
If they grow poor, like you." 
We need not dwell upon the details of Massinger's im- 
agery, for imagery universally involves detail, and we are 
now considering the Details of the subject proper. The 
scene of the servants in Lady Allworth's hall gives 
us an actual scene from the life of three hundred years ago 
with such minuteness that its verity is manifest. The stage 
direction as to the furnishings is oddly meagre, "Table and 
four chairs." Not much Detail there. Stage management 
itself had not reached Detail. Order has his staff of office. 
His "chain and double ruffs" are symbols of power. 
"Whoever misses in his function, 
For one whole week makes forfeiture of his breakfast, 
And privilege in the wine-cellar." 

"Tis not twelve o'clock yet, nor dinner taken up." Fur- 
nace complains that when he cracks his brains to find out 
tempting sauces, "when I am three parts roasted, and the 
fourth part parboiled, to prepare her viands, she keeps her 
chamber, dines with a panada, or water-gruel." The charm 
of all this is its definiteness, its Detail. The general idea 
was all provided for in the Plot or Scenario. For that mat- 
ter, that Lady Allworth refrained from her customary food 
is not exactly a part of the Plot, and if it is of minor im- 
portance, how are we to' attach value to the Detail, for ex- 
ample, that she "dines with panada, or water-gruel?" For 
one thing, because the complaining of the cook is the one 



detail; circumstantiality 405 

really important thing in placing the character before us 
for the purpose of Episode. Much of this Detail existed in 
Massinger's notes, mental or written, before he found a 
place for it. He found his Episode first, and then used the 
Detail in this scene. "Sort those silks well. I'll take the air 
alone." Note the Detail of ideas in Lady Allworth's advice 
to her step-son. Order says, 

"There came, not six days since, from Hull, a pipe 
Of rich Canary," &c. 
Greedy's remarks are full of Detail. Here we see one 
very valuable aspect of Detail. Without it, how could his 
humor be picked out. His minute descriptions of baked 
meats and pastries and cooked food show him to be an ex- 
pert connoisseur. The stag must be baked in puff-paste. 
The stag came from the forest of Sherwood, and it is one 
of the fattest that Furnace has ever cooked. The chine of 
beef is "ponderous," which gives us a clue to the old expres- 
sion that represents the table as "groaning" with its burden. 
The pheasant is larded. Greedy is bound to have, if noth- 
ing else, "but a corner of that immortal pastry." Wellborn 
is rudely received by the servants and reprimanded be- 
cause he had not stayed "to be served, among your fellows, 
from the basket, but you must press into the hall." Is not 
that a little Detail of this Lady Bountiful's house? Well- 
born describes the servants in a few words of choice Detail, 
"created only to make legs and cringe, to carry in a dish, 
and shift a trencher." The opening scene of the second act 
has much of its interest, a kind of Action in itself, from De- 
tail. Sir Giles "will buy some cottage near his manor," 
Master Frugal's "which done, I'll make my men break ope 
his fences, ride o'er his standing corn, and in the night set 
fire to his barns, or break his cattle's legs; these trespasses 
draw on suits, and suits expenses," &c. Passage after pas- 
sage, page after page, would have to be quoted in order to 
put down here what is plain to any one who will read the 
lines of the play. Does Marrall make his reflections on the 
sudden change in the fortunes of Wellborn in general 



406 ANALYSIS OF DRAMATIC PRINCIPIJS 

phrases? No, he reflects that but lately he was glad to get 
"but cheese parings and brown bread on Sundays!" Mas- 
singer thus reduces everything, the slightest, to the con- 
crete; his illustrations are Details. Wellborn assures Mar- 
rail that they will not dine under a hedge. Marrall is as- 
tonished, for 

"But yesterday, you thought 
Yourself well in a barn, wrapped up in pease-straw." 

Note Amble's description of Marrall's conduct at the ta- 
ble: 

"As I live, he rises, and takes up a dish 
In which there were some remnants of a boiled capon, 
And pledged her in white broth !" 

Sir Giles has his servant take his horse that he himself 
may walk "to get me an appetite ; it is but a mile distant to 
the house :" exercise will keep him from getting pursy. Be- 
fore this, Marrall, wishing to ingratiate himself with Well- 
born, has offered him a horse, a horse, is that all? No, that 
is not enough for Massinger. Marrall's horse is a gelding. 
Marrall would like to have, as a favor from Wellborn, when 
the time comes, "the lease of glebe land, called Knave's 
Acre." As Lovell enters, he calls off that his coach should 
be driven "around the hill." It is half an hour's riding to 
the house of Sir Giles. Again we come to Greedy, and his 
sentences are compact with Detail. He would be impossi- 
ble without it. Sir Giles has much Detail in his talk with 
Margaret. She is wearing orient pearls and a gown of 
quaint fashion. Sir Giles has taken up the serving gentle- 
woman "in an old tamin gown." Confound Greedy! here 
he is again with his Details. He can't make the cook cook 
the fawn whole with a Norfolk dumpling in its belly. Greedy 
has to sit with the maids below. Sir Giles speaks of the 
trunk of rich clothes, "not far hence, in pawn," belonging 
to Wellborn. He will redeem them. It is four miles dis- 
tance between Sir Giles's manor house and Lady All- 
worth's. The scene of Episode in which Wellborn meets 
with and disposes of his creditors is particularly full of De- 



detail; circumstantiality 407 

tail. There is no need to reproduce it all. The Vintner 
reminds Wellborn of the "muscadine and eggs" he trusted 
him for, "five pound suppers, with your after-drinkings, 
when you lodged upon the bank-side." In the fifth act, 
note that Wellborn is dressed in "lavender robes." The 
land had been in Wellborn's name "twenty descents." "Vil- 
lage nurses revenge their wrongs with curses," but Sir Giles 
will "not waste a syllable," as he advances to kill Marrall. 
In his madness Sir Giles sees Furies "with steel whips." 
Detail is one of the charms of the play. The deed is "three 
years old." 



CHAPTER XXXIV. 



THE CONDESCENDING FALLACY THAT ONLY THE 
RUDIMENTS CAN BE TAUGHT. 

The "born" playwright will graciously condescend to ad- 
mit that some instruction in playwriting might be useful 
for beginners. He himself was never a "beginner." The 
idea implied in this is that some poor creature, in 
need of making a living, might possibly by a close 
study of his plays evolve some understanding of the ele- 
mentary principles and impart them to people less fortunate 
than they and who need to have the faltering steps of their 
childhood supported and guided by some mechanical knave 
who has himself never got beyond the rudiments. It im- 
plies further that only the rudiments of the art can be 
taught; that when it gets beyond the rudiments only a su- 
perior mind working in its own inscrutable way applies 
principles and methods that cannot be reduced to terms. 
This assumption or theory has never been applied to any 
other art. It is certain that no one is satisfied with the 
"rudiments," either as a matter of teaching or learning, in 
any other School than the one which I have had the pre- 
sumption to found. Something more than the a, b, c's are 
taught us when we get our first schooling. 

Unquestionably, much more can be taught about mathe- 
matics than the elementary things of addition, subtraction, 
multiplication and division. The student is not left to his 
own resources to discover square root and the bi-nomial 
theorem. If the higher mathematics of playwriting cannot 
be taught, it can only be because there are no higher mathe- 
matics. If the art of playwriting consists only in a few ru- 
diments, then it differs from any other art, and is a poor 
thing indeed. The great trouble, for the present, is to con- 
vince people that playwriting is really a complicated art, 
and that something more, much more, is to be known about 



THE CONDESCENDING FALLACY 409 

it than the a, b, c's of it. Of course, there may be kinder- 
gartens for any art, but instruction in it need not be confin- 
ed to the rudiments, although it necessarily begins with 
the a, b, c's. 

Every art should be taught in its completeness if it be an 
art and if the institution teaching it is worthy of existence. 
Art or Technique is simply the way of doing things, and 
this applies to a trade or craft or anything that is worth do- 
ing or which affords a livelihood or the accomplishment of 
aims that are in no wise sordid. It is a practical thing, and 
a practical thing will hear to no nonsense such as is uttered 
in regard to the "rudiments" of playwriting. 

If one attempts a career of electrical engineering as an 
expert, will he be satisfied with some elementary informa- 
tion about the Leyden jar, conductors and non-conductors, 
the positive and negative pole and such elementary infor- 
mation as is possessed by any person of general education? 
If his aim is practical and he wishes to exercise an art he 
wants the whole thing if he can get it, and he can always 
get everything that is known of any art according to its 
state of advancement. Fifty years ago there was no career 
open to the electrical engineer, for the art had not advanced 
far enough to require the services of a practical expert. 
There is no such thing as an artist possessing secret laws of 
any art, which, moreover, he could not impart to any one 
else if he wanted to or tried to. 

What stupidity, what futility, it would be if surveying 
were taught in the schools in such a way that one could 
not survey land and accomplish the practical requirements? 
The world would stand still if only the rudiments of any art 
could be taught. 

If playwriting could be taught only as to its rudiments, 
then beyond that point every playwright has a complicated 
art of his own which cannot be reduced to terms and which, 
in the very nature of the case, must be different from the art 
of every other playwright that exists or ever has existed or 
ever will exist, for no two men are alike ; but that is not true 



4 IQ ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

as to art. Its principles are exactly the same, exercised by 
whom you will. A scene written by any dramatist, known 
or unknown, of repute or of no repute, if technically perfect 
and if it is all that the material and the conditions require 
is as good as if Shakspeare had written it. It is as much 
art, for there can be but one art applied to that particular 
purpose. The writer who does not understand these princi- 
ples, it matters not what his genius may be, is not a dra- 
matist. A play is good or bad, effective or ineffective, in 
proportion as it conforms to the one universal art. 

It has been like preaching in the wilderness to overcome 
the soul destroying dictum of such dramatists as contend 
that playwriting cannot be taught and therefore is not an 
art. Many playwrights would like to have you believe that 
they did not have to learn the art. Ibsen learned his art. 
In principle it does not differ in the slightest degree from 
the universal art. His very freedom from conventionality 
shows that he is a master of the art, for if he had not been 
a master of it he would have been conventional. Shaw 
learned the art and rejected the conventionalities. Do you, 
for a moment, imagine that neither of these men read Aris- 
totle or that they pursued no investigation of the art as an 
art? Has either of them ever pretended that he did not 
learn the art ? Has either of them ever said that it was born 
in them and that they knew things in the art which could 
not be communicated to any one else? Does the individual- 
ity of Shaw as seen in his plays mean that his art is differ- 
ent in principle from that of Shakspeare or Sophocles or of 
any other thorough dramatist? The fact of individuality in 
these writers is simply proof that this universal art does not 
destroy individuality. Could they have written their plays 
with only an understanding of the rudiments ? 

There is no art in the world which cannot be taught to 
you in its fullness according to your capacity for receiving 
it. If you have that capacity for receiving what is taught to 
you and if you have a teacher who means to give you all 
that he knows, and if that teacher sees great qualities in you 



the; condescending fallacy 411 

and foresees your future, will he not gladly give to you 
without reserve? It is simply a question of whether you 
are worth the while. Some of the greatest painters and mu- 
sicians and artists in the world have been teachers, but few 
have ever finally been unable to say to some pupil, with af- 
fection and admiration : "I can teach you no more. Fare- 
well and God speed you." Would such teachers have con- 
descended to teach only the rudiments? 



CHAPTER XXXV. 



SYSTEMATIC STUDY. 

Time is an essential element in the learning of anything 
of magnitude, of detail, and of consequence. Expedition in 
the work is desirable in so far as it is consistent with thor- 
oughness, and thoroughness requires that we Make Haste 
Slowly. The foundation should be solidly laid and be per- 
mitted to settle. There is always a method of instruction 
which finally proves to be indispensable and the best. It is 
easy enough to begin at the wrong end. Practical creative 
work should be reached as soon as possible, but it is a waste 
of time to attempt it before one has an understanding of the 
principles and their intercommunicability. I am often in- 
clined to think there is something wrong with the moral 
character of one who will not take the trouble to make a 
systematic study of an art which he wishes to acquire and 
who, in his perversity, will submit to no guidance or re- 
straint. It is important that the study be made as interest- 
ing as possible, beginning with the simple before reaching 
the complex. Interest in the work depends absolutely upon 
an understanding of the principles as they are encountered. 
One takes no interest in a game that he does not under- 
stand. This period of learning the nature of Principle is a 
necessary preparation for actual playwriting. The prelimi- 
nary work required is in effect playwriting itself, for the 
same processes of thought are employed. During this pe- 
riod there should be no interruption in the study. One 
should let it take hold of him like a fever that runs its course. 
One should saturate himself with the intelligent analytical 
reading of plays. In every education a point is reached where 
one can abandon his research and can proceed with confi- 
dence in applying what he has mastered in theory. It 
would be a mistake, however, to believe that any form of 
this preliminary exercise work is mere theory. Playwriting 



SYSTEMATIC STUDY 413 

is practical or nothing. The student who simply reads 
through a chapter of a text book and tosses it aside with the 
idea and the remark that he thoroughly understands it does 
not impress me. He should be eager to demonstrate to 
himself that he understands it and the best way to do that 
is to do an amount of work corresponding to that in the 
text book and to submit it to the expert who has no defer- 
ence to the individual except in so far as the student gains 
that deference by a complete submission to the art. Play- 
writing itself has its compensation for the labor bestowed 
on it only for those who understand the art. Nor is there 
any pleasure or compensation for the student who does not 
know every foot of the ground that he traverses. Other- 
wise the study is not exhilarating, but painful. The amount 
of one's work is in proportion to the interest he takes in it 
and the benefit to be derived is in proportion to the labor. 
If you take the trouble to understand as you proceed the 
work becomes fascinating. There is a very great difference 
in the feeling of knowing that you understand a thing and 
of believing you do, with or without misgivings. When 
you really understand a thing, you know you know it. It 
is the difference between the amateur and the skilled. As- 
suming that you think you know it, in a hasty, superficial 
and unjustified self-confidence, you may have a humiliating 
awakening later on to a realization of having spent an in- 
definite time in ignorance of what you might have learned 
without delay. By making sure that you understand, as 
you proceed, your work becomes easier and easier. A dis- 
tinct advantage of exercise work also is that you can better 
your instruction by taking that initiative which is required 
in discovering these principles in plays that are not ana- 
lyzed in the text. By finding an example or illustration of 
your own you possess yourself of the principle by your own 
labor and research. I can only give you the principle and 
explain it in its various aspects, but for me to attempt to 
exhaust illustration would be an impossible task. As much 
as I may do, there is infinitely more that is left for you to 



414 ANALYSIS OP DRAMATIC PRINCIPLE 

do. If each principle had to be illustrated from every play- 
that was ever written there would be no end to it. It is the 
principle we are after, and that is enough. When you are 
absolutely satisfied that you understand it, then sustained 
systematic work has reached its period. By continuing 
your study, of your own initiative, according to the system 
laid down, the very illustrations that you will find of your- 
self will be new, and this newness will help to sustain your 
interest. You may have the foolish idea that work of the 
kind is like "going to School," again. The people who do 
things in this world are never out of school. Do not be- 
come impatient at going over the same ground a number of 
times. To him who understands there is constant variety 
and newness of interest. The deeper you go the more inter- 
ested you will become. The more facile and correct your 
work the greater the gratification to you. You will note 
your gradual acquirement of thinking in drama. A dra- 
matic study requires that you become acquainted first with 
each principle singly and then in combination with other 
principles. When you have them firmly fixed in mind and 
come to apply them to original work you will not be dis- 
turbed as to uncertainty as to meaning and application. It 
is often difficult to make a completely satisfactory applica- 
tion of a given principle, it matters not how well you under- 
stand it. Until you do understand it you cannot use it 
as a tool, and you have no right to have the tool in your 
hand until you fully understand its use. This preliminary 
study wins half the battle. Why wait to have yourself 
committing in your own plays every mistake which you 
would have guarded against by following the systematic 
study? Play writing requires the patient process of thought. 
This very work over the exercises will give you that pa- 
tience of thought, and it will be fruitful if you have plowed 
deep and turned up the sub-soil. You want to get under 
the surface. It is not enough that you discover why and 
how the principles are rightly applied; you must discern 
how and why they might have been misapplied by the writ- 



SYSTEMATIC STUDY 415 

ers of the plays which you analyze. Even an inexperienced 
writer might have in his manuscript of a play many exam- 
ples of a principle and yet be profoundly ignorant of the 
principle itself. If you know the Hows and Whys you are 
the superman. We are studying the plays written by dra- 
matists who knew what they were doing. They had a rea- 
son for everything. They were exercising their art all the 
while. It matters not how easily and naturally they exer- 
cised it, they always did it with intelligence. Try to follow 
the processes of their minds and get at all their reasons, 
and imagine all their difficulties, for they had many difficul- 
ties. It is important for you to learn why it takes time to 
write a play. 



Ct)e American g>c|)ool of 
l&Iaptoriting* 



(CONDUCTED BY W. T. PRICE). 

1440 Broadway, New York City. 



This is the only School in the world in which Playwriting 
is taught from the first step, from the philosophy of the 
principles, to the completion of a student's own play. It has 
heretofore been absolutely impossible to get this instruc- 
tion. The feasibility of teaching, as done by this School, is 
no longer in question. It accomplishes results, as is known 
by the success of a number of its students, among them 
Thomas Dixon, Jr., with "The Clansman," and Benjamin 
Chapin, with "Lincoln." 

Playwriting, it is true, has been learned heretofore by 
personal observation and imitation of plays. The externals 
have been learned first, the principles afterwards. It is a 
method that inevitably leads to conventionality and empiri- 
cism and to the necessity of unlearning and learning all 
over again before one masters the art. Moreover, it re- 
quires from ten to twenty years to learn it in that way and 
to reach success on the stage. 

The system of the School is perfected ; it is not something 
that is going to be done, but that exists. Each week a cer- 
tain number of pages in printed form, with correspondence, 
are sent to the student. The steps by which the art is ac- 
quired are: 

1. Introductory. "The Technique of the Drama." 

2. "The Analysis of Play Construction and Dramatic 
Principle." 



3. A thorough study of the philosophy of the Prin- 
ciples. 

4. The thorough answering of Question Sheets on 
all the Principles and their illustration by the 
student from any number of plays which he may 
select for the purpose. 

5. The revision of faulty and amateur plays; false 
dramatic syntax. 

6. Special exercise work in solving problems and in 
the writing of short plays on assignments or on 
subjects of the students own. 

7. The writing of one's own plays by the student, 
revised by the School. 

This system conducts the student through the practical 
dramatic workshop. The teaching and the learning are 
done mainly through correspondence, the best way, for the 
teacher and the student are brought into direct contact, 
undisturbed by others. The amount of material furnished 
in the course is unprecedented in any School of Correspond- 
ence on any subject. 

The correspondence is weekly, and extends over one year. 
The actual time required each week for the study is entirely 
at the convenience of the student and is not too exacting for 
the busiest man, whatever his occupation, if he is in earnest. 
The School was established in 1901 and has been successful 
from the beginning. No man can, by any possibility, be 
born with the knowledge of any art; and the more capable 
you are the more urgent is your need of training. 

"What can be learned can be taught." 

"You may be the mightiest genius that ever breathed, but 
if you have not studied the art of writing for the stage you 
will never write a good acting play." — Henry Irving. 

Plays by members of the School will be placed. 

In applying for membership it is desired that the student 
give full personal information about himself, — his age, his 



occupation, his experience in visiting the theatre, in acting 
or in writing for the stage, and such other details as may 
be helpful to us. For circulars, terms, and other informa- 
tion Address : — 

W. T. PRICE, 

1440 Broadway, New York. 

For "The Technique of the Drama," by W. T. Price. 
Brentano's. $1.50. Address as above. 

For "The Analysis of Play Construction and Dramatic Prin- 
ciple," by W. T. Price. $5.00. Address W. T. Price, 1440 
Broadway, New York. 



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